Agents of Overwatch
by Guixi
Summary: Post Recall, a series of slice-of-life drabbles surrounding the agents of Overwatch. [DISCONTINUED]
1. Recall

**Title** : Recall

 **Characters** : Tracer, Winston

* * *

Ten minutes after her call, he could already hear the distant noise of rushing wind and the zippy blinks of the chronal accelerator speeding up. Winston barely had enough time to turn around before the figure barrelled into him, arms thrown across in an attempt to envelope him in a hug. Unfortunately her short stature could not measure up to his bulk, but it was the thought that counts.

Stumbling back a little, glasses now askew, he grunts and focuses upon the spry woman, mouth running as fast as she could alter her own time.

"Really, love!" Tracer chided, pulling back to offer her most grumpiest, serious glare. It didn't last long. "It's been God-knows how long and you couldn't even give lil' ol' me a buzz. Honestly, I'm offended! Hurt! Slaughtered!"

She threw herself back, landing on the ground with a thump, sprawled out dramatically. The scientist sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, helping the human back up to her feet.

"I apologize, Tracer." his deep voice rumbled. "Things have been rather.. tense."

He grimaced, knowing that was vague. The fall of Overwatch hit the world and it's members hard, and though he would not claim it dealt the greatest blow to him, secluding himself away from society, pondering and deliberating that recall order was not how he envisioned he would spend his prime. The great gorilla's face fell even further as the ex-pilot shot him with an inquisitive raise of the brow and the cock of her hip that he knew all too well – she would be asking questions, later.

"You don't say. Fell out with the décor, did you?" she instead quipped, gesturing to his messy base of operations. Winston cleared his throat.

"On a lighter note," he wisely chose to move on. "I am glad you have made it here safely. It's only a matter of time before the others arrive."

If, the others arrive, he corrects in his mind.

"It's going to be like the old days, huh?" Tracer comments, hands shoved into her jacket pockets as she walked around the gorilla to gaze almost wistfully around, though her tone carried an undercurrent of sorrowful nostalgia. An agreeable silence fell between the two for a moment, her question remaining in the air as the only sound that answered it was the soft hum of the woman's accelerator.

The thoughts of heroic acts of old sprung into the scientist's mind, from spending time in a think-tank to create innovative designs and technology, to fighting side by side with the very agents he recalled in the field of battle, against any threat – or, as the British woman would say, 'the forces of evil' (followed by a silly grin.)

But that in turn brought about memories of the fall, the great Overwatch tearing itself apart from the inside out. It seemed his companion shared the same thought, her jaw squaring and smile struggling to stay present. Winston broke the silence.

"No." he said, surprising her. "It's going to be better than the old days – hopefully having learnt from our mistakes."

Tracer's grin widened, and she walked up to sling a slim arm around his humongous one.

"That's what I like to hear, love. Now hows about you show me to my old room?"

"I would be delighted to."


	2. Reunion

**Title** : Reunion

 **Characters** : Mercy, Reinhardt, Torbjörn

Three old veterans, three old friends.

* * *

It felt wrong to leave Iraq in the state that it was in – and at first, she was going to ignore the white and orange flashing call sign on just about every piece of technology she was registered too, bar her own Valkyrie suit. Yet as the days passed and her services needed as a medic were becoming less and less, her mind and eyes were drawn to the symbol.

She waited until the end of the week, at least. The medical students under her wing were undergoing their final exams, and if a good half of her group got their licence, Mercy would feel a little less guilty about leaving her sworn duty to serve another. Winston certainly did not make it easy for her, with messages mentioning that he would be honoured if she took up the position of head of medical research again.

Thankfully, there were very few failures, a tribute to her being an excellent mentor. With a serene smile, she finally accepted her recall, and made plans for Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

Angela was not the first to arrive, though she did not expect to be. There were various men and women milling about – mostly behind the scenes workers, scientists, labourers, fellow doctors – though the agents themselves were eerily missing. Her lips thinned in a concerned look, pondering if she had entered the wrong facility, though felt relieved as she spotted – for a brief moment – Tracer zipping past overhead.

As she did not want to make a big fuss about arriving, she quietly slipped past the milling workers and into the poor excuse of a clinic. Mercy had unfortunately seen worse – the tables appeared to be clean, though she would very much like to sterilize the entire area.

First things first. She changed out of her Valkyrie suit, storing it for now safely in her office's locker, and donning a simple mint-green dress.

The doctor was ready to leave and report to Winston at her arrival, yet ocean blue eyes caught sight of filth near the sink, and potential areas of contamination. Muttering an apology to the gorilla, she knew he would understand her tardiness.

As she set to work, the sudden booming of a low yet grizzly tone sounded through the clinic, starling her into dropping the disinfectant.

"Angel!" a juggernaut of a man called. His weary voice was offset by his jolliness, clearly happy to have came across the medic. "Ah-hah! Tracer said I could find you in here!"

"Reinhardt," the doctor reprimanded. "You startled me."

Either he did not hear her or he was simply too ecstatic to care, he approached Angela, large hands gently cupping either cheek. Reinhardt had opted to leave most of his Crusader armour off, un-armoured from the waist up, but even so he still towered over her in height and width. Mercy knew the amount of strength he had, but had no issue with him handling her head, even if one wrong move could be messy and devastating.

"Look at you!" he cooed. "You haven't aged a day! Yet, look at me – grey and old."

She chuckled warmly, relaxing and leaning her cheek against his palm, eyes briefly closing for a moment, before they sharply opened and regarded him with a critical look.

"Yes, old! I thought you were going to hang up the hammer – retire and put all this combat behind you." she all but resists wagging her finger at him.

"Never. I have sworn to fight until my very last breath, and I vow to you I will always respond to the call of battle." he huffs. "You know me, Angel."

Too well, she thinks. Her nagging was merely born out of worry and concern for the veteran soldier, both as a doctor and as a friend. His hands move to lower from her face, and she takes the opportunity to softly grasp them with her own hands, offering him a small smile.

"Then you can always count on me to watch over you." she adds, causing the gentle giant to flush a happy pink. Her smile vanished for a look of thought, tone distant as the doctor quietly wonders;

"Have you seen Torbjörn?"

A mock look of hurt crosses the German's face, stepping away from Mercy and placing a meaty hand on his chest.

"You would rather seek the diminutive engineer out than converse with a grand knight? Mercy, I am wounded!"

Ocean blue eyes rolled skyward at the gentleman's theatrics, and noted that such a thing was all too overly common amongst the agents of Overwatch, though the reigning crown of drama currently rested atop the messy hair of the time-controlling pilot. She let go of his hands, leaning up on her tip toes to pat at his cheek and sweetly say;

"If it heals you, then we all know you are still more handsome than he. Even with your old age." Hearty laughter followed suit that seemed to shake the room, confidence oozing from him instead of a more virtuous humility. He made a move to slap her on the back as he so often did with his comrades, but thought better of it, and instead grinned widely.

"I think of myself as.. vintage! I only get better with age, ha-ha!" Reinhardt jokes along, before sobering up and answering. "Torby will be in the workshop, no doubt. I can imagine it now, _'When I get my hands on that good for nothing-'_ "

" – gorilla, I'm gonna break him to pieces!" the Swedish weaponsmith grumbled, clawed appendage ripping through useless scraps and bent bolts. The workshop was already in a state of disarray before he arrived, but now that Torbjörn had seen fit to claim the space as his own, it had only gotten worse. He remained oblivious to his company, with Angela covering her mouth to stifle laughter as Reinhardt mouthed _'I told you he'd say that.'_

The doctor decided to bring him back to reality, her soft voice rising above the racket he was causing. "I see you've settled in already, Torby."

The noise stilled, before the head of the stout man popped out from around the corner, regarding the two with faded blue eyes. His appearance had not changed since they last saw each other, with him sprawling a massive blonde beard that always was a source of question – how it never got singed during his work or smithing was beyond any of them.

"What are you two, the welcomin' committee?" he bellowed. He was loud, but the volume did not disguise the fact he was pleased to see them.

"Angry already, my small friend?" the German soldier asks, quickly covering his head with his arm as the dwarf responded with gears sailing towards him. Angela lightly stepped to the side as to not become collateral damage.

"Actually, I believe the entire committee is composed of Tracer." she mused.

"That blasted woman came through here already," Torbjörn started, disappearing back behind the wall as the noise resumed and his voice was muffled and raised to shout over the din. "Said congratulations on becoming Overwatch's chief engineer. Bah! Like I wasn't the world's engineer already!"

The noise stopped suddenly as a crash was heard, followed by a short burst of colourful language in Swedish. Reinhardt looked to Angela for translation, a questioning grin set on his face as she merely flushed in embarrassment. Still, worry won out over amusement, and she approached the garage, cautious of the various metal pieces strewn about.

She was relieved to see that the only thing wounded was the great engineer's pride. There only seemed to be unusable scrap left, which was the source of his ire. A few moments passed and Reinhardt joined the two, grin ever present as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Torby, abandon this junk heap already. Rome wasn't built in a day, eh? Come join me for a drink. Angel, you too. You can sort your clinic out later." he stated with finality. The doctor opened her mouth to retort, before closing it, shaking her head and nodding.

"We could all use a drink." she agreed. "Though nothing of your German brew, Reinhardt."

"Mercy! I am wounded again.."


	3. Realise

**Title** : Realise

 **Characters:** Mei, Winston.

* * *

The Chinese climatologist pushes up her glasses for the umpteenth time since she had entered the room – they had the unfortunate tendency to slip down the bridge of her nose when she was particularly focused or her head was tilted down, and currently she was studying one of the many equations written upon the blackboard. She recognized the surprisingly neat and blocky handwriting as Winston's.

She felt guilty for reading them, as if she was spying, as she had only been allowed in the room to assist the engineers in routing out an adequate air conditioning system, preferably one that wouldn't need to be maintained. Her knowledge and technology would help out, while the developers did all the manual work.

Looking left, then right, she fished around in her huge fluffy coat pocket and retrieved a blackboard marker – there were many miscellaneous items on her person for every conceivable situation, a trait she had picked up living in the unforgiving, harsh Antarctic. Approaching the blackboard, she altered the equation that was troubling her, stepping back to survey it once more and nods to herself. Her small script was out of place, especially with a tiny smiley face punctuating the period.

"Winston wouldn't mind, would he?" she murmurs to herself, anxiety creeping up as she thought about rubbing it off. A pink flush settled on her cheeks as even if she removed her correction, the gorilla's work won't magically reappear.

Sighing and beating herself up over it, Mei distracted herself with the work she meant to do within the room, mind running a thousand ways to apologize, and settled for a letter to his desk.

A short while later, and the animal in question shuffled in, one large hand delicately and precariously holding onto a steaming hot cup of coffee, freshly brewed by the smell of it. Wizened grey eyes curiously watched the other scientist shy away from him, as if embarrassed over something. Clearing his throat, Winston began.

"I came to check up on you. How are-"

" – I am so sorry, Winston! I .. I wasn't going to touch it, but, you were so close, and the answer was just too clear and -" The distress in her tone and face was enough to make his chest clench. Carefully setting down the cup, he tried to calm the distraught woman down with varying degrees of success.

"Mei, please, calm down. What have you 'touched'? I'm sure it's nothing I can't fix, there's no need to get so upset."

He received no vocal answer, merely the raise of her hand to point at the blackboard. His gaze shifted, travelling to where she was pointing and studied the equations. Immediately they fell to her cute handwriting, reading her input and going over once more. His mouth dropped open slightly in shock.

Fearing the worst, Mei nervously fiddled with her gloves, gaze downcast. She screwed her eyes shut as Winston's shadow cast over her, only for her to yelp in surprise as beefy arms wrapped around her and picked her up happily. She blinked a few times, staring at the gorilla's delighted face, and felt a genuine, relieved smile work it's way across her own face.

"Mei, you are brilliant!" he complimented, before remembering his manners and awkwardly setting her back down, fumbling over himself. The gorilla was quick to jump to apology, muttering and looking overall embarrassed.

The climatologist didn't mind, though – Winston was equally as intellectual as her, and found it endearing that he could be just as humble as she read about before joining Overwatch. She giggled, previous anxiety melting away as she bowed her head.

"T-Thank you, Winston. You did most of the work," she gestured to the blackboard. "I don't think I could've came to the same conclusion without it."

Her returning compliments only seemed to fluster him further, and Mei realized that they both couldn't take good words well. He straightened himself up, fixed his glasses (yet another habit they shared, apparently.) and gathered his wits well enough to formulate a question without stuttering or making himself look even more foolish.

"I have a few more theories and equations lying around unfinished. It would be an honour if you looked over them."

Mei beamed. She knew that their fields of scientific study were vastly different, but she couldn't deny the chance to peer deeper into Winston's thought process when it concerned science and mathematics.

"R-Really? Oh.. thank you, again. I would love to!"


	4. Revive

**Title** : Revive

 **Characters** : Lúcio, (Symmetra)

* * *

The room was starting to shape up to his liking, with personal effects, posters and music station placed lovingly in the corner, waiting to be set up. As far as he was told after being given the grand tour by Lena – or Tracer, as she liked to be called – the living quarters were like a programmable environment; tailored to suit the needs of each individual agent.

A warm feeling of pride intermingled with determination swelled in his chest at referring to himself as an agent of Overwatch. Lúcio was the direct result of Tracer's rallying call and Winston's satellite. He already had experience with rising up to the challenge, as he fought for freedom primarily, especially in his home of Rio de Janeiro. He never wanted to see another Vishkar banner in his life again, but he knew he would never truly be satisfied until he liberated all of the cities under their corporate control.

It was an admirable goal to have, one that likely could take the better part of his life, but a cause he was willing to dedicate to. The revival of Overwatch was a promising start and gaining influence as an agent would certainly help in the long run.

For now, all he could do is wait before he was called off to a mission. As the organization was still in it's infancy, there had only been minor undertakings – mainly scouting the old outposts, salvaging what was usable in technology, scrap and intel, and small skirmishes with the terrorist group Talon. Those were always the most frightening, as when the agents returned he overheard conversations in the mess hall. He'd never seen the chippy British woman so aghast, speaking of how they had become quite powerful since Overwatch's fall, and from what he knew they were already quite a challenge to begin with.

Hopping off the bed and landing silently on bare feet – his trademark neon skates were tucked nicely against the door – Lúcio decided to work on his newest track while he waited for his call to arms. It didn't take long to hook up the sonic-sound system, throwing on his headset which rested askew and he grinned widely. Switching the device on, the bass thumped, the music grew in volume and his room was surrounded by the tune of a rejuvenating beat.

His head bobbed along with the track, adjusting various elements within the song as he saw fit, eyes closing as he not only listened, but _felt_ the music. He was able to envision himself back in streets Rio de Janeiro, staring up starry-eyed at his favourite DJs and bands performing, local names that never really made it big but were loved nonetheless. When Lúcio was old enough, he was just like them too; an underground artist, until he broke through and made it big with a little help of Vishkar's sonic technology.

The Brazilian freedom fighter was jolted out of his immersion when the loud pounding on his door cut through the beat. Thinking it was his time to head out on a mission, he shut off the music immediately, jumped into his skates and opened the door bright-faced, only for it to darken as he faced off against the equally brooding look of Symmetra.

That was one of the only problems he currently had with Overwatch. Any ties to the Vishkar Corporation was disgusting in his eyes; though Winston had patiently explained to him how the conglomerate could easily destroy the reborn organization and that Symmetra was here as an affiliate to Overwatch first and a trade agent to Vishkar second. The great scientist had also tried to calm the DJ's ire when he mentioned the woman's wavering ideals, as intellectual, social conversations bred some doubt towards the corporation.

The light-bender's brown eyes flicked downward, then back to his face, and Lúcio couldn't shake the feeling she was looking down at him. He sneered.

"Your excuse to cause noise is creating too much of a racket. I can hear you through the walls." she stated, voice low and accented.

Lúcio may hate everything she embodied, much as he did for her, but he wasn't prepared to stoop to her level into needlessly fighting, as much as his pride urged him to argue. After all, judging from the organization's history, it was infighting that caused the disband in the first place. As it seemed he was not being called, he kicked off his skates and offered her a wry, albeit forced grin.

"'tis a good beat, no?" he asked, even if she remained unamused. "I call it _Rejuvenescência_ , part of my new album. It's supposed to help the healing process or generally please the listener – Mercy's gonna want to play this through her clinic!"

Symmetra stared at him, as if expecting a different response, although it was impossible to tell if she had been caught off-guard, before scoffing and replying;

"The only thing it will help is give them a headache."

"To each their own, Symmetra!" he yelled over his shoulder as he went back into his room, resuming the music. The woman was about to retort, but found herself silent as the DJ did indeed turn it down a little. Lúcio stepped away from the station, tossing himself back on his bed and waving to her.

The light-bender retreated, the door closing with a whoosh and the sound becoming more muffled. That did not go how she planned it out to be, which silently infuriated her. It was one instance that would become insignificant in the long run – she assured herself that her vision would be realised one way or another, and eventually, she would get her reality.


	5. Reap

**Title** : Reap

 **Characters** : Tracer, Reaper.

* * *

 _Everything_ had gone wrong.

Tracer's heart pounded against her chest, the harness that served as her anchor in time – her life support – felt all too tight around her, breathing constricted. At finding a seemingly safe alcove, her back thumped against the cold brick wall as she leaned her head back against it, eyes screwed shut. Sweat lined her face and her already messy hair was positively haywire. Her blasters were raised up, yet she knew through brown leather gloves her knuckles had to be bone white.

It was supposed to be a simple mission – a simple, _bloody_ scouting mission. Yet little did she and the agents of Overwatch knew, the activity within one of their vacant outposts were not fellow agents. No, it was something far worse.

Talon.

They did at least have the foresight to think that this might be possibility; of a trap to lure members of Overwatch out to slaughter them, which is why Tracer opted to go alone. Her speed was unmatched and any ugly situations could be daringly escaped from with the help of her control over her own time, be it speed or reversing bad positioning.

McCree was adamant in trying to attend the mission with her, as if he suspected it was more than simply a trap, but he was persuaded ( _read: forced_ ) to stand down on this occasion. He was insistent that she brought her pulse bombs, which Lena was all the more thankful for that she did. They made short work of the clustered soldiers, but she couldn't help but think they were merely there to waste her resources.

Yet everything went _tits up_ the moment that rasping, foreboding laugh echoed throughout the facility, and it felt like her very blood froze. _He_ was here. The Reaper.

And he intended to _collect._

Their first skirmish favoured her, as his entrance easily gave away his position. The goosebumps rose and a prickle of anger and realisation needled the back of her neck – was he _toying_ with her? Either way, she would make him regret treating it like a game, and zipped across the room, avoiding his shotgun shots with ease. An arrogant grin worked it's way on her face to mask the crippling fear, voice breathless and containing forced pride.

"Having trouble landing the mark there, _love_?" she taunted, even if her own bullets were pot-shots at best, more focused on dodging than assaulting. "I could paint a bullseye on my back, might make it easier for you."

"You already have." he hissed, and it took only a moment for her to realise he was referring to her harness before she yelped and quickly blinked out of the way of a potentially devastating shot aimed towards the accelerator. He didn't need to kill her when he could just cut off the life-support. That, was more frightening than losing her life through any other means – being desynchronized in time.

Tracer decided to tactically advance in another direction, preferably away from Reaper. The entire facility was a good start.

Thus, the alcove she now rested in. She didn't escape the skirmish completely unscathed; the Talon agent's shotgun spread was impressive, and they had rendered her communication device unusable, which was just her luck. The sprite of a woman loathed feeling so enveloped by terror – it was unlike her, yet the mere thought of her chronal accelerator being destroyed and suffering the disassociation again was enough. A living ghost..

Shuddering, her pistols lowered and shaky hands rested on the device around her chest. Lena made a note to ask Winston to design something that was less out in the open for situations just like these.

"Alright now, Lena." she muttered to herself, preparing the pep-talk. "You've handled worse than the Halloween reject. You're the cavalry! No point horsing around."

At the very least, the bad joke, even in such dire times managed to crack a smile. Nodding to herself, she twirled, reloaded her pulse pistols and stepped out. She was going to save her power for the inevitable run in with Reaper, as she would need every ounce of energy to escape him alive. She kept to a reasonable jog – a marathon, not a sprint – and headed towards the exit.

"Death comes.."

 _Of course._

Tracer whipped around, pistols pointed at every which location as nothing but black mist was present in the room. She grimaced, lips pulling back in a snarl, no sight of the Reaper aside from his scratching voice that reverberated through the empty, cold, metal hallways. As she walked, she was acutely aware of the single remaining pulse bomb resting solidly against her hip. That could be her escape ticket if she planned it correctly.

"You could have been one of us.."

A sharp intake of breath, followed by airless laughter. One of Talon? She wasn't a fan of brainwashing, or murdering her friends. "I usually reserve this for the _best_ of people, but you're a bloody _wanker_ , love. I would rather die than join Talon."

Yet she was unaware he was not referring to Talon. Tracer did not know Reaper's true identity, and while she didn't, he would indulge that for now.

"Your misguided loyalty to Overwatch still holds back your potential," it was surprising to hear anger and hate directed all pointedly at _her_ than to life in general. "They will _waste_ you."

"Are we talking about the same thing, love? 'Cause now you're _genuinely_ getting creepy."

The mist surrounding in the room intensified, and she readied her pistols as if he was about to appear, yet he didn't. Her ire was brewing, staying in this constant state of readiness, muscles tense and she just knew there was going to be horrendous cramping in her leg. It was confusing that he seemed so.. annoyed. It felt far too personal than she was comfortable with, as if he should be someone she knew, past the Talon agent of death.

"You should have accepted the opportunity when you could."

Her brows furrowed deeply in concern and puzzlement. There was only _one_ opportunity that had ever arisen, but surely Reaper wouldn't know anything about _that._ Either way, it wasn't the time to dwell on, and she shook her head. If he was just going to play games with her, she wasn't about to stay and listen to him. Without responding, she continued on for the exit, only to yell in surprise as the mist finally congealed into more solid form of the Reaper, shotgun outstretched first, barrel resting snug against the blue orb of the accelerator.

"Die."

The entire world around her began to rewind as she reset her own time. Terrified eyes watched the blast of the shotgun travel forward to her, slowed down, even as she travelled back to a safer point in her time. Her heart felt as if it wanted to burst after such a close encounter, but she could breakdown later, immediately blinking away after the second shot from his other gun, zipping away. Naturally, he gave chase, each shot closer and narrowly missing.

In a dangerously daring move, she grabbed her pulse bomb, activated it and twisted back to throw it directly at Reaper, sprinting ahead to avoid the blast. She heard the detonation, but didn't dare risk looking back now that she had her avenue of escape. Most likely, he slipped into his wraith form, but that delay was just enough for her to get too much of a head start.

As she ran, her mind was fixated on his words and the image of his gun pointed directly at her harness. Tracer could safely say she stared at death, and death stared _back._


	6. Reboot

**Title** : Reboot

 **Characters** : Bastion, DVa

* * *

Many of the agents and workers within Overwatch did not stray too far into the more abandoned areas yet to be restored, be it due to hazardous conditions – pipes burst open, exposed wiring and scorching steam – or because of the sole occupant that had been driven to call the unfit space as it's quarters. Humans still rightfully feared Omnics, some renounce sentient technology of any kind, even the primitive ones those years ago.

The Bastion unit was one such feared machine, even if this particular one did not know why the other agents were weary of it, or regarded it with distrust and hate, but it did not question. They saved it, restored it, and gave it a home. That was enough for it.

In most occasions, it simply remained idle, moving only so it didn't enter sleep mode during it's low-powered state of disuse. There were rare instances it was needed out in the field to serve as defences measures; keeping watch much like a turret (though the Swedish engineer often spluttered and raved about such a decision.) The one to fetch it was never the same, and were hasty and quick to leave after relaying orders.

On one faithful day, Bastion was about to power down for the evening – an action that it grew .. anxious to do. Many of the curiosities it faced had to be explained, either through visual means of learning itself or by a kind enough engineer passing through. It's sensor's sparked up alight as an unfamiliar heat-signature rapidly alerted on it's radar, soft idle orange turning red as it processed if it was a threat or not.

Whomever the figure was, they were certainly tempting fate. It was moments like this which is why it chose to seclude itself away from humans. It's combat protocols, though mostly dormant, were not completely under it's control. The submachine gun raised, targeting systems focusing upon the descending heat-signature until it changed to a less technical view.

It's subsystems seemed to bring up multiple errors to the main unit, as everything stalled and hung. The Bastion unit was going through a system failure, uncertain if the figure was an enemy or not. It began to go through a restore whilst the source of it's crashes looked around with wonderment.

" .. and, my faithful viewers, we continue our once in a lifetime tour of the Overwatch base. We seem to have stumbled upon abandoned, spooky areas. I'll give you the scoop after a word from one of my sponsors, _Proto Motors_!" The young adult tapped on her headset, pausing the streaming program.

Hana Song had promised her viewers an inside look into Overwatch as her new position as one of their agents. Usually, she streamed her combat operations and gained many fans, but with the state of influx the organization was currently under as it rallied to get back on it's feet, her time out on the field had grown less and the ire of her fans more.

This seemed to be the best way of appeasing them, even if Winston had expressed his displeasure at such a public display of the inner workings. He had said something about Talon spying on them through her stream, which made her break out in a fit of laughter. Next time she saw that walking Grim Reaper rip-off, she was going to ask if he enjoyed watching her shut down some of the terrorist's agents.

Although, the sight of capturing the Bastion unit on her show could have gone both ways with her audience, which was the true purpose of cutting to advertisement. The Omnic crisis was still present in some human's minds, and she would not want to risk alienating some of her fans.

Bastion recovered, fully operational as it identified the young adult adorning a jumpsuit littered with sponsors as Hana Song, or commonly known as DVa. It lowered it's submachine gun, beeping in what it hoped was a friendly enough tone.

" _Ann-yeong,_ Bastion." she stated lightly, unable to help but grin as it's head tracked her movements like a curious cat. "What are you doing down here? You're no use to us broken if you get caught in one of those steam pipes."

It communicated in various pitches and tones of beeps – Hana was a master of the computer and gaming, but she couldn't understand machine binary. She offered a sheepish shrug, checking the time briefly before folding her arms and tilting her head. Bastion too, tilted along.

"Eh.. do you just sit around here all day waiting for something to happen?" Quickly, she added; "One beep for yes, two beeps for no."

It beeped once.

Hana wasn't one to feel guilty or remorse for anyone, especially opponents, but she did feel something towards the unit's inactivity – a feeling she could relate to. The current state of infrequent missions, even if it would likely change in the bigger picture, made her wonder if joining Overwatch's cause was a good idea. The war with the Omnics in her homeland were no more, thus the use of her MEKA was infrequent at best.

"Wait here, I'll be just a moment." she told Bastion, winking and sprinting back upstairs.

True to it's word (or.. rather.. it's _beeps,_ ) the unit didn't move an inch, even it's head was still fixated in the same place. returned after an hour, as advertisements were over and she wrapped up the stream. She wandered back to the abandoned area, and handed Bastion a strange device littered in bunny stamps with a cute key chain of the bunny logo she utilized for her MEKA. Upon further inspection, it recognized input controls and buttons – it was rather simplistic, compared to the Bastion unit.

"It's called a _Gameboy._ " she informed, sitting cross-legged next to it. "It's a super retro system, but I think retro is your style. You can play this while you wait for missions. Neat, huh?"

Bastion intoned in various chip tones, amplified as Hana switched on the device and found itself beeping along to the bit music. That seemed to get her in stitches, as she begun to try and teach the unit how to play the strange game called _Pokémon._


	7. Rearrange

**Title** : Rearrange

 **Characters** : Junkrat, Roadhog, (Mercy)

* * *

The rooms were clean, polished to a pleasing sheen, with only the faint scent of cleaning fluids and bleach permeating the air. The hallways were equally immaculate, not a single floor panel unscrewed or uprooted, the walls devoid of any graffiti or damage from the outbreak of battle. The workers within Overwatch had been hard at work to restore their watch points and bases to their former glory, and most of the Agents remained housed in a single base whilst things were settling down. Expansion was the least thing in their unofficial leader's mind – safety and security was.

Yet all the cleanliness, the perfection, it absolutely disgusted their newly recruited demolition expert. The only thing resembling close to home or familiarity was that dwarf's workshop, which was currently out-of-bounds during his ' _development period_ ' whatever that was. Immediately he missed the irradiated air of the Outback and the harsh conditions, and more importantly, the _mess._

Junkrat was beginning to regret going legit (the first time he decided, didn't count, as that was a set up.) and at first the process wasn't easy. He and his bodyguard were notorious criminals, constantly coming under suspicion whenever something ended up wrong, though the agents knew they had little to no affiliation with Talon. He is a terrorist of a _different_ kind – or rather.. was.

"This place makes me sick." he grimaced, always one to speak his mind. Wild amber hues darted across the same-looking floors and he felt as if he was going (more) crazy. Even walking was difficult, as his robotic peg-leg struggled to find suitable grip on the smooth surfaces, with each step the explosive strapped around his wry shoulders jiggled dangerously. "What do you think, mate?"

Jamison turned his head to the bodyguard, a sizeable older man with no means lacking muscle compared to his belly. His meaty arms were folded, the pig themed gas-mask completely obscuring his face and muffling his voice. Whatever he had said, it came out as filtered grumbles, which seemed to be enough of an answer for the smaller, leaner Junker.

"You're totally right!" the Australian expert proclaimed. "We should christen this area – y'know, like making it more homely! Now.. how are we going to do that.."

In his twisted mind, there was one solution: explosives, and lots of them. He was in no shortage, as he always carried a personal case full of them, not to mention materials and ingredients to make his own unique blend of fiery destruction, to which he considered himself a connoisseur of. A maddening grin spread askew across his crooked face, and he ambled along as fast as he could, with Roadhog in tow.

Going to the edge of the room, he fell to his knees, hands splayed against the cool metal surface that made up the floor. By some logic that only made sense to the psychopathic expert, he marked a few of the panels with soot from his stained hands, which were littered with callouses and varying degrees of burn scars, with his trademark logo of a deranged grin. Satisfied, he unhooked a crate of mines and shoved them in the enforcer's hands.

"Set up them mines on the crosses, mate." he instructed, using the bulk of his friend to stand up with a slight struggle and hobbled to the other side of the room to do the same. Roadhog shrugged, nonchalantly obeying; though his arrangement of the remote-detonated mines were far neater than his wayward, torched companion.

At the very least, there was method to Junkrat's madness. He wanted an area that was sturdy and resistant to test out any future projects Overwatch might assign him to. The Swedish engineer would not be happy with a wrecked workshop, and Symmetra's laser turrets had already left him running with his cargo pants on fire, so he would go by each unoccupied room one by one if he had to, until he found a suitable test site.

Pleased at the sight of the explosives, a giggle worked it's way to maniacal laughter when he set the last of the mines into place. He briefly tossed his gaze over to Roadhog to check his progress, but he had long since finished and was standing off to the side, giving him a slow thumbs-up. The smaller man made a series of crazed hand gestures that the biker understood, stepping away to safety as Junkrat remained dangerously close in the area. He wanted to see his pride and joy in action up close – not filtered behind a safety screen.

A crude looking detonator was drawn out of his pocket, paying no mind to the fact any of the mines could've set off as it was pressed firmly against his leg, he looked left and right, grin remaining and plugging one finger into his right ear.

"Fire in the hole!" Click.

The entire watchpost shook, with any workers, agents, diplomats flailing or grabbing a hold of the wall to steady their balance. Many assumed it was merely an unpredicted earthquake or a rupture in an underground pipe, yet minds were quick to change at the sight of black smoke invading the hallways, leaving many hazardous and unusable for the time being. An alarm bleared out in times when the base was under attack, a computerized voice ushering non-fighting personnel to their respective quarters.

The first response was indubitably Mercy, donned with full medical equipment, staff and additional precautions – a mask to protect her lungs from the acrid smoke with a see-through glass visor to cover her eyes so they didn't sting. There was no fear as she charged through the smoke, wings of her suit springing free to provide light through the dense smog. Even as the siren screamed; her strong voice carried out over it in Swedish, instructing her auxiliary staff to clear the area.

She strained her eyes until she finally caught sight of two figures, one large and utterly unharmed, while the smaller one was plastered against the wall, the outline of powder and soot splashing up like blood marks. She grimaced, but as far as she could make out from her position, he wasn't dead, thankfully. The doctor approached, using her wings to propel her forward. The first call to order was to get them both of of the fog.

The standing man – whom up close she recognized as one of the two new recruits, Roadhog – wore a gas-mask, protecting him. He, quite disturbingly was laughing at his friend's misfortune; a low chuckle that was accented with a few coughs here and there.

"Get out of the smoke and get to my clinic!" she hissed, surprisingly commanding when in her duty. Her arms slipped under Junkrat, swiftly unhooking the explosives strapped around his shoulders to offer them both safety in case they went live with such a collision, and also to make him lighter. He was coughing, eyes streaming yet still maintain a smile all throughout. Mercy was genuinely surprised he wasn't dead by the smoke inhalation, but musings could wait.

At some point, Jamison had fallen unconscious, but when he roused awake, he was not greeted with a site of total destruction, but instead a foul clean smelling clinic, to which he appeared to be an occupant of. His wits were scrambled for a moment, before he blissfully recalled the zone testing. Speaking of which, he felt lighter, which panicked him. Everything ached, but that was secondary to the fact he was missing all of his personal effects.

Calloused hands patted his chest, leaning up suddenly and cursing quite colourfully at the sharp sting of pain through his body. He'd been in explosions before, but he admitted begrudgingly to himself that maybe he was a step too closer than usual. Bleary amber eyes darted around in paranoia, before his gaze landed on a familiar face.

"Roadhog, you saved me, you big lug!" he exclaimed happily, before stopping and checking him out once over. He was sitting beside Junkrat's bed, with a comically small book in his hands. He looked up regarded his employer with an unknown expression.

".. I didn't know you could read -"

"I told you to stay out of trouble." the older man rumbled. "Not get yourself killed. Idiot."

"I'm not dead, mate." the Junker protested. "C'mon, you know it takes more than that to kill me off. Barely even a scratch!"

To demonstrate his point, he hopped off of the bed, instantly regretting it, as the moment pressure applied to his foot, pain worked it's way like a lightning bolt. He doubled over, once again reduced to blurting out swears in his own attempt to alleviate the pain. The noise and language grabbed the attention of Mercy, whom stormed out of one of the patient's cubicles, shot a brief glare to Roadhog and hauled a whining, writhing Junkrat back on the bed.

"Oi! Mate, if you don't get your tiny hands off of me I'm gonna shove a mine up…" he trailed off, finally managing to get a good look at the true saviour of his life. The Junker stared into the firm yet concerned blue eyes of the doctor, still wearing her Valkyrie suit. With his momentary gawking, she took the opportunity to (gently) shove him back in his bed.

"My nanobiology technology managed to stabilize you – do you even realise how close you were to suffocating? At least your irresponsible _friend_ wears a mask. You will likely still experience some lingering pain. A day's rest should be enough." Mercy informed. "I sincerely hope I do not have to issue doctor's orders to not stand next to mines, young man."

"Blimey." he said, snapping out his stupor. "You're the one that carried me out, didn't you? Pretty sure that was some kind of, mechanical angel. It had.. _wings._ "

Mercy rolled her eyes, muttering something about continued delirium due to oxygen deprivation, which got the enforcer at the bedside in a wheezing laughter, and subsequently Junkrat giggling too, even if he didn't know why Roadhog was laughing.

"A day's rest." she reiterated. "I am also instructing you, Mako, to watch over him. If he tries to get out of bed, please stop him this time."

He gave a snort and a thumbs up. Folding hands behind her back, she left, briefly hearing the smaller Junker shout; "Whose side you working for, 'Hog?!"

Mercy shook her head, but gave a small smile. Winston sure knew how to find the strangest heroes.


	8. Remedy

**Title:** Remedy

 **Character** : Mercy, Reinhardt, (Torbjörn)

* * *

"I think you are starting to enjoy these visits, _älskling._ _"_

Many agents and personnel come and go throughout her clinic, sporting injuries or illnesses of all kinds. Most of them could be taken care of by her staff of doctors, nurses and surgeons, but she often took it upon herself to treat as many as she was able to. Yet none were as frequent visitors as the stalwart, German tank. There had been many times, past and present, that he had to be seen, with varying states of criticality.

Today was a particularly busy day. The newly recruited demolition expert's stunt came with much collateral damage, as some of the more unstable areas yet to be restored had broken apart or ruptured into deadly shrapnel as a result from the explosion. She had made a mental note to send Junkrat for a psych exam before being discharged, though thankfully for them all, he was sound asleep, recovering from his own mess.

Mercy tapped a few buttons on the panel, shutting the door to the patient cubicle for privacy, turning to face the sheepish man. Like she had last seen him, his chest was exposed, free of his armour yet remained clad from the waist down; though he was beginning to regret returning to a more casual approach. After today, he was certainly going to return to wearing his armour around the base.

Many cuts and lacerations he had sustained had been taken care of through her technology, not even leaving a scar, yet there were still some surface wounds littering his arm. As per his usual request, he preferred the old styled method of medicine – wishing for bandages, pills and syrups than nanobiology. They had come to an agreement long ago that any life-threatening ones would be treated her way.

"Well, as long as you are my doctor, Angel." he intoned, offering a wide grin. "I trust my life with my brothers in arms and you. Not many else."

She shook her head, returning his grin with a warm smile as she fished around for the wrap of gauze lengthy enough to cover around his muscular arm. Her voice was slightly muffled with her head in the cupboard, standing on the tips of her toes.

"Are you sure you want me to bandage it? My technology will only take a _second._ "

"I want it to scar." he affirmed. "A reminder, and another story to tell for the children, aha!"

She found the wrap, though fell unexpectedly silent, mind wandering off deep into memory. Most of it was viewed through rose-coloured spectacles, of great success in missions and the accolades and praise given for her solely advancing the state of medical science, even if the journey had come with a taxing price that she wished not to think on.

Mercy steered her thoughts elsewhere as she joined Reinhardt on the patient bed, sitting beside him and gently taking his afflicted arm in her own hands. His words had triggered such a nostalgia trip, mirroring ones he had uttered to her long ago in the heat of battle, accompanied by the shots of guns, the yelling of commanders, the updates of vitals of every field agent from her suit..

Reinhardt looked to her expectingly, and she spoke.

"Do you remember the last time you had said those words?" she asked, leaning over and gathering a few cotton wool balls and lukewarm water, soaking them mildly and began to clean the cuts. To Reinhardt's credit, he didn't flinch, unlike most dramatic patients.

His great hands rested on his knees, head turning away to peer up at the ceiling before it occurred to him too, and his grin broadened, even if regret mingled in aged eyes. Yes, he remembered that day all too clearly, as it both was a success in terms of mission status, and failure as a friend to her.

"Ah.. yes.." he murmured. "One of our first missions together. I was so much more handsome back then."

He knew that little quip would get her chuckling, even if it was to deflect the nature of the memory. The German soldier barely had known Angela back then; they all had a day or two to meet their fellow agents and make sure they could work well together before being sent off. He, as always, remained ever the gentleman, though often felt like he was invading some kind of moment when he wanted to speak with the doctor – in those days, she spent much of her time with Torbjörn.

Not that she didn't now of course, but back then she was younger, and the engineer far more protective. Even now, he could feel the original glare the diminutive man shot at him whenever he approached her. Thankfully, battle had forged a bond far greater than he could ever have made through words.

"You are _always_ handsome, Reinhardt." she sighed. "I can't believe you've got me to say that twice this week."

"I like to know me and my looks are appreciated, it warms an old heart, Angel."

She flicked the soggy cotton wool ball at his face, which harmlessly dropped down to the floor after connecting with his cheek. Yet his attempt did little to deflect them returning to the thought of the first mission. Reinhardt began to grimace.

* * *

It was a pretty standard mission by context – raiding an Omnic command and control protocol, something Reinhardt and Torbjörn were well versed in, whereas Mercy had never been out in the field past rescue operations and tending the wounded during natural disasters. The closest thing to combat she had been in were post mission check-ups, both in physical and mental health.

Unsurprisingly, the Swedish engineer protested her assignment to the mission, but her breakthrough in nanobiology had recently became noticed and recognized by Overwatch, and they wanted to capitalize it for raids.

At some point during a mission, they had stumbled upon several Bastion units rooted deeply into the last point of their objective; all of which open fired upon the team. Reinhardt's iconic barrier held out as long as it could, but even that wasn't able to withstand the continuous, heavy fire. He had shouldered the damage pretty well in his crusader armour, but with each hail sent shock throughout to his flesh.

As Morrison and Reyes took care of some of the units, Reinhardt powered up his armour and charged into the last, causing it to uproot and explode. Even if Mercy had not known him for long then, she didn't want him to die. They wrapped up the mission objective while Angela tended to Reinhardt, instructing Torbjörn to remove his armour. He had been so stubborn, grumbling and resisting, much unlike the gentleman she came to know.

The moment he peeled the armour off of him, they could see the damage. Not only would it need to be repaired, but there were a series of bullet wounds scattered in his arm. It was a testament to his endurance that he had not passed out or gone into shock. Angela immediately sprung into action, preparing her caduceus staff to renew the flesh, but jolted as Reinhardt gripped it with his uninjured arm.

"Let it scar! It will tell the tale of this glorious day!"

"Reinhardt, this is life-threatening! You are losing a lot of blood – I, _you,_ don't have time to justify right now!" She struggled, but his grip was iron and unrelenting. "Torbjörn!"

"This isn't the time for glory, lad." the engineer warned, assisting and attempting to pry the hand free. The German soldier may have a good decade over the shorter man, and was bleeding out, but his strength was commendable. Eventually, Torbjörn managed to yank his hand free and let Angela carry on with her work.

"Damn you!" he cursed. "In barely a year's time this day will be nothing but an insignificant memory, with no proof to take from it! Deny me this, doctor, and I-"

"I am sorry, Agent Wilhelm." she said, stone-faced. "But I have a sworn duty."

* * *

Angela finished cleaning up his arm, the surface cuts were very shallow when all of the blood had been taken care of, neatly tying the bandage around his arm, not too tight as to cut off the flow. Her blue eyes gazed at his face, which was deep in thought, wrinkles and brow grooving down in a strong grimace. She hated that look; as she believed it didn't suit such a sweet gentleman. Her caring hands slowly drew away to his face, cupping his cheeks reminiscent to how he had done at the start of the week, and turned his head to face her. He blinked, drawn out of his thoughts.

"What I hated was not your response, but how willing you was to throw your life away." she said, quietly. "For the sake of a glorious trophy."

"Not to matter. Torbjörn hated me for you." he stated ruefully. "He.. knocked some sense into me, shall we say. I was drunk on the victory of our missions; of Overwatch. When you stopped me from making that mistake, I.."

He trailed off. He was a hearty, open man, but even Reinhardt had things he struggled with confessing, as it reflected badly on the image he wanted to be built up as, the expectations people had with such a legendary relic, and his own personal self-esteem. One of his greatest fears was perhaps in a decade or two, he truly may _not_ remember his conquests. They often made fun of his age, as he was sixty one and still in answering the call to battle, yet underlying that was a frightening inevitable truth.

Sensing his unease, Angela decided best to let him speak when he was ready, silencing him with a small kiss planted on his forehead. His cheeks flushed a bright pink, and she chuckled softly. At least there was some modesty within him somewhere.

"You need not explain yourself to me, Reinhardt." she told him. "Even if you grow to hate me for my actions, I will remain your guardian angel _._ "

They shared a smile, and he gathered her hands to press his lips against her knuckles in knightly gesture.

"I could never hate you, Angela."


	9. Reawake

Title: Reawake

Characters: Genji, Zenyatta, (Liao, Mercy, Hanzo.)

* * *

Having been on the verge of death's door for so long, the feeling of stability felt so jarring. In fact, everything about him felt simply wrong – there were no blurred vision, darkened at the corners with spotty visuals, nor did he have any difficulty breathing. Shockingly, he could not feel if he was breathing at all, yet he was aware he was alive, as the vital signs told him so. He expected to be shaking, or even going into shock, mind still focused solely back to the confrontation with his brother, but no – he was merely met with a clinical smell, a cold reality and the metal that encased him.

"The process is a success, but we will need to monitor the adjustment period. We cannot afford to lose this asset in the war against crime." a voice spoke out, which alarmingly he immediately recognized, visuals and mind assaulted with information that he did not call upon. It belonged to one of Overwatch's founding members, Liao. Often noted as one of the most illusive member's as the public was sheltered from his involvement, the Chinese engineer spearheaded many of Overwatch's technological projects.

"You'll forgive me for speaking out of line, Sir, but Genji is more than an _asset._ He is a _life._ " another voice cut through, firmer yet more feminine. Genji was frozen stiff – she was the one that had brought him to this place, she whom revived him. Given the metal that feasted upon his flesh, he did not know if he should thank her for her mercy or assassinate her for his living prison.

"He is no more alive than the Omnics we have destroyed now, Doctor." the man scorned. "Regardless, his body appears to be slowly accepting the cybernetics, yet I am unsure if _he_ will. Is he awake?"

"I am." the ninja, once member of the most notorious criminal organization that terrorized Japan spoke for her. He leaned up from the table, several cables connecting to the metallic torso breaking free. It did not take long for his enhanced capabilities to kick in, even if he was subconsciously fighting against the life support. Liao was not wrong in that his body surrendered quicker than his mind, but with each visual, each update of vitals and other information like he was a robot, he was beginning to grow repulsed.

At least the saving grace was that the lack of a gag reflex stopped him from vomiting at the realisation of what he was, now. It was still too much to take in.

"Good." Liao noted. He was about to continue, likely moving onto business as the frank man often did, but was begrudgingly silenced with Angela's intervention, topped off with a sharp glare. The cybernation may have been a success in the engineer's eyes, but the doctor knew it was highly taxing mentally. The man that remained beneath his metal body could be entirely different.

"Do you remember your name?" she asked.

"Genji Shimada."

"Do you remember why you are here?"

"Your organization – Overwatch – rebuilt me, in exchange for my assistance in taking down the criminal enterprise known as the Shimada empire." though his voice was rendered differently with the digital vocals; it still carried the hate that bubbled inside of him. Movement finally occurred as his hands slowly curled into fists. The spite overwhelmed the disgust he had for his situation, as the living weapon was livid over his brother's actions. No matter what, he would crush the empire, even if he had to do it single-handedly.

"We require locations of their stockpiles, names of their commanders, and maps to any and all secret tunnels and escape routes. A detailed map of Hanamura – specifically their compound – would be a great start." the Chinese engineer cut in, critically eyeing him. Genji bristled, as if the man's gaze was judgemental.

"I will do this myself." the brash ninja spat, feet connecting with the ground as he stood. He did not sway or waver, his determination to carry out his revenge outweighed his mind's war against the body. "The only way Shimada will fall is through someone who knows it. That is why I must act alone."

"Genji, you have only just awoken, we do not expect you to take down the empire in a day. There is still more mental evaluations I must carry out -" Angela's protests fell on deaf ears, as the assassin was already walking off, ignoring her entirely.

Truthfully, he was not off to avenge his near death, he simply needed to get away from the two, to somewhere quieter, and give his enhancements less reason to update on the vitals of those around him. He could not foresee him coming to appreciate what he had become – a living weapon. It began to breed further contempt for his brother and family. When the time comes, he could not wait to see his elder sibling's face when facing against someone who should be _dead._

* * *

Months had passed and the tide of the battle against the empire was in Overwatch's favour with assistance from Genji. Unsurprisingly he had carried out most of the missions and raids alone, putting his new-found agility, strength and superiority to use, even if he still did not accept what he had become. Quite the opposite; as the days toiled on and the influence of the Shimada clan was losing it's grip on Hanamura and Japan's black market, it came under further crushing blows as their marksmen leader abandoned his legacy. It seemed carrying the guilt of the blood feud had finally gotten to him.

The peacekeepers did offer him a permanent position as an official agent of Overwatch after the fall of the enterprise, to which he sneered at. They didn't want Genji Shimada, younger lord of the clan. No, they wanted the living weapon they only knew him as. It seemed he shared one thing in common with his disgraced elder brother: he felt without purpose, without honour in the state he was in. So he left, on his own personal pilgrimage for self-acceptance and meaning.

Genji knew the journey was going to be a long, unforgiving one, with roads untravelled. He admittedly was pampered as the youngest in the Shimada family, a lifestyle with everything given to him. Perhaps this was his curse for his lack of respect, or responsibility. At the very least, the one thing Overwatch did give him was being able to escape from the idyllic flower village, out of Japan and into various Watchpoints and bases in many different countries.

Thus he travelled to the Himalayas of Nepal. He was aware of the awakened Omnics that resided there, preaching spiritual enlightenment and societal harmony. The cyborg had explored every possibility to come to terms with himself, but dogmatic rituals and faithful sermons were vastly untouched. Yet even as he stood at the base of the mountain; head tilted up and staring at the Omnic statues and welcoming monastery embedded within, he stopped.

"This was a mistake." he growled. Did he truly think that he could find peace with the monks? He would taint them with his presence – as there were more sin on his hands than the blood of his enemies and the curse he had.

Once more he left – this time with no direction in mind. Simply _away_ , from the monastery, the mountains, the world.

"I know the doubts that plague you."

Genji froze, one hand reaching for the handle of his _katana,_ eyes and machine scanning for the source of the voice. It didn't take long to find it belonging to a peaceful Omnic, floating in place where he stood before. It amazed him that he didn't manage to pick up signs of the monk, but it was not like he actively tried to utilize his body's strengths. His tutted, turning around and throwing over his shoulder;

"You couldn't possibly know my burden, monk."

"Your mind wages constant war with your metal body; your soul is ripped apart by the strife. There is great discord within you."

The ninja's hands balled into fists, but he paid no heed to the monk's words. He did not expect anyone would understand, and a stubborn part of him still believed none did. The last thing he wanted to be was used again, or his loathing exploited. He did not respond to his words, sprinting ahead and vanishing within the next breath of wind.

Zenyatta quietly pressed the tips of his digits together, humming lightly to himself. He knew the man would not find solace in his words just yet, but he had a feeling that – in time, perhaps he would return.

"The doors of Shambali monastery are always open to you." he said, even if Genji was likely long gone. "I hope our paths intertwine once more."


	10. Refine

**Title** : Refine

 **Characters** : Zarya, McCree, (Soldier: 76)

* * *

Alongside being their base of operations, Overwatch served as a home away from home for their fellow agents, and one of their prime goals were to keep them in their peak fitness condition, be it physical, social or mental health. With specified rooms tailored for their preferences (even if the locations were not optimal, as was the case with Lúcio and Symmetra's rooms) and a plethora of additional activities to keep them occupied.

There were many recreational rooms within each Watchpoint, but for the particular one of Gilbraltar, their unofficial main base until they could restore their operations within the Switzerland headquarters, it was fashioned into a training facility and gym. Many of the agents returning from the field often unwound with exercise in the rec, unless they wanted to suffer horrendous cramp in the morning, or used it to strengthen oneself as was the case of Aleksandra Zaryanova.

It had been an odd process going from apart of the Russian Defence Force to the reborn Overwatch; but she had been called a hero for her homeland, and the peacekeeping force needed them to fight back against terrorists and criminals. She had almost defected at the sight of Bastion, though remained untrustworthy and weary for now, promising Winston that any more inclusions of Omnics would be her leave.

An arrogant grin played on her lips, emerald coloured eyes looking to the gathered men and women whispering amongst themselves. She was known as being a star athlete and professional bodybuilder, and was flattered to find out she had fans outside of Russia. Steeling herself, Zarya wiped her hands free of any sweat, shoved some sturdy gloves on to avoid callousing her hands and gripped onto the metal bar of the weights, lifting it to her chest, before up to the ceiling. The soldiers applauded as she set it back down, flexing to chorus of praise.

"You know, strength isn't everythin'." a voice drawled out as the crowd dispersed, leaving the owner in it's wake. Zarya glanced up from her water bottle, regarding the tanned, bearded man with amusement. McCree was a familiar face in the gym, as she saw him sparring plenty of times with soldiers and agents. Often he won through guile and agility than strength, and almost always played dirty to impart some kind of lesson. He never truly struck her as a mentor, though. That title belonged to the _other_ frequent visitor.

"Hm. I find those who lack strength say that often." she teased, grabbing the old westerner's fleshy arm – in her hands she could feel lean, wiry muscles, but it certainly did not compare to her built up bulk. "As I suspected, soft like baby. How can you even lift your gun, pretty boy?"

The former Deadlock Gang member chuckled lowly, inwardly cursing Overwatch's strict no-smoking policy within the gym and taking his hat off. With no habit to fall back on, it was easy to dissect his true intentions, yet Jesse played along, regardless. "Why d'ya think I got myself a mechanical arm, darlin'? You sure caught me, though. I'm not one for strength. I'll leave that for the German."

She let go of his arm, grinning ear to ear at his comment. Zarya admired and found rivalry against Reinhardt in sportsmanship – for a man his age to contain such physical fitness was commendable.

Even so, there was some hidden wisdom underlying the American's words. In the heat of battle, power came from all sources, not just raw strength. The members of Talon and other criminal syndicates were no means weak, either, and a cunning strategy was just as effective in silencing a target as crushing them under her boot.

"And," she continued with the banter, brow rising to the shock of pink hairline. "You believe you could teach me something, yes?"

He raised his hands, palms shown in an innocent gesture, a slow smirk spreading across his rugged face, voice dipping slightly. "Hey now, your words, not mine, darlin'. But I reckon I've been in this business longer than you have and know what a bunch of lowlifes can do against an opponent that has all brawn."

"Are you suggesting I have no brain?"

"I'm _suggestin'_ that you've got the brain to learn a couple of tricks against lawless scum who think you don't _._ How about a spar? _"_

Ever the smooth talker. "Good answer, little man. Let's dance."

They waited for the arena to be cleared before taking it up for use. It was set up much like a boxing ring, though was far wider to allow a better recreation of a larger scoped battlefield. There were poles marking the corners, and padded wiring to make up the walls, though they were not flexible enough to utilize them. On the mat of the ring, several markings denoted special fields or rules for imposed challenges.

Seeing two agents set up to spar – especially when the match up was former Blackwatch member McCree and celebrity athletic Zarya – started to draw up a crowd. The American noted the face of Soldier: 76 amongst them, arms folded and eyeing him critically. He knew what the outcome of the battle was going to be like, but decided to allow it take place. If anything, it would be a great training exercise and a lesson for both of them. He shook his head, muttering something about ' _kid's these days.'_

Jesse wiped his head free of any previous sweat from the towel draped over his shoulders, before tossing it carelessly over the side of the rails, and took a moment to gather his stringy, drenched hair into an (unbecoming by his standards) ponytail. The last thing he wanted was the possibility of losing because of obscured vision. Zarya was equally ready, having traded most of her metal protection for softer leather.

"Now darlin', the first thing an opp – _urgh_!" The American was swiftly interrupted as the Russian woman charged forth, bulky arms wrapped around his waist and taking him down roughly. His head banged against the mat, and even though it was cushioned, still felt like a good wallop. There was a struggle, with Zarya's weight easily suppressing the smaller, leaner man under her. He glared up to her impish emerald eyes.

"You talk too much, little man. This is a fight. I thought you knew that?" She gripped one of his arms in a lock, aiming to bend it slightly to cause discomfort and pain and leered. "Submit?"

He gritted his teeth, but managed an airless chuckle nevertheless. It had been a while since a good fight, especially with uneven odds. He was a gambling man, after all. McCree did not respond with words, instead twisting his waist to bring up leg and roughly knee Zarya in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of her and releasing him from her grip. He sprung free, rolling out of another attempt at grappling him into a submissive position and stood up, taunting her.

She rose up, narrowing her eyes and encircling him as he did the same. A tense moment passed, and she realised he would not make the first move – smart, given he was the lighter opponent. He would have far more advantage playing defensive than going on the offensive. She had seen this kind of mentality in wrestling before; using their weight against them. Charging wouldn't be optimal, now.

McCree beamed lightly as he witnessed that she was suddenly reserved, unwilling to instigate another assault. No doubt the Russian soldier was a fast learner in all things concerning combat, which made his job all the more easier. Yet that was only part of the lesson he was going to teach. In a fair fight, this was all game, yet the enemy was willing to do what it took. He just hoped she would display the same.

His fleshy arm drew away to the back of his utility belt as he slung his metallic arm forward, as if he was going to shove her with his shoulder. Zarya began to respond in turn, aiming to step away to his weaker side only for him to surprise her by switching up at the last minute and tossing forth a flashbang straight at her, rolling away as he did so.

The woman let loose a string of Russian profanity, eyes tightly screwed shut as they streamed and her vision was nothing but blinding white, her ears pounding and ringing with white noise. Disorientated and off guard, she felt McCree press a boot to stomach and gently kick her down, followed by stepping lightly on her windpipe. By the time her vision cleared up and there was only latent noise in her ears, she stared up at the victorious tanned face of the rogue.

"Cheat!" she spat venomously. "You only win through dirty, underhanded plays! You are no true soldier."

He scoffed; brows drawing together slightly. "D'ya think the enemy's gonna play fairly, darlin'? That anybody in desperation is gonna stick to the rules? We're not fighting in tournaments and championships. We're fightin' a war, and war isn't a fan of sportsmanship. I sure as hell am no soldier, but I'm a damn good fighter."

Jesse stepped off of Aleksandra, offering his hand out for assistance. She looked at it cynically, anger still boiling in emerald coloured eyes, yet begrudgingly resigned to the truth of his words. As she did not want to be a sore loser, she took a hold of it, and he hauled her up. She hummed lightly, before softly sighing.

"Hm. Perhaps you are right. But I still won this fight."

" _Yea_? How d'ya come to that conclusion?"

With a mischievous grin, she effortlessly grabbed him into a headlock, laughing heartily at his weak attempts to pry himself free and protesting loudly as her knuckles rubbed harshly against his scalp, finding deep amusement at watching him trying to squirm away.

"Alright, alright, I submit! I swear, you're gonna make me go bald, then I won't be such a _pretty boy._ " he wheezed, quickly drawing away when she gave a little leeway. He pitifully attempted to fix the mess that was his sweat-stained hair, gingerly touching his aching scalp to the look of Zarya's grinning. He gave some vague gestures which seemed to mean he conceded the match to her, and with that she exited the gym, exhausted from the day's training.

As others were gathering their things to leave as the evening drew to night, Soldier: 76 approached McCree as he lit a cigar outside of the gym, taking a much needed drag out of it. There was silence for a moment, before the tanned American spoke.

"Y'got something to say, Morrison, spit it out. I aint got all night."

"It's refreshing to see you take up some responsibility, although your _subtly_ in training Blackwatch techniques could use some work."

Jesse flicked the barely smoked cigar out of his mouth, crushing it under his boot as he no longer felt the desire to, offering a humourless, bitter smile to Jack. They exchanged rueful glares, with McCree pushing past him, throwing over his shoulder a casual;

"Someone's gotta do it, and you've already had your time, Jack. Maybe if you had put aside your differences and high-horse morals, this could've been an entirely different rodeo."

It was a packed statement, one that Soldier: 76 bristled at, yet he let him go. It was too late to start an argument, and the potential for a more successful peacekeeping force too promising to throw away on old squabbles.

For now.


	11. Remix

**Title** : Remix

 **Characters** : Soldier: 76, DVa

* * *

There were many things Jack Morrison disagreed with concerning the reborn organization, but nothing was more irksome than the inclusion of children.

To Winston's credit, it hadn't been his intention or idea at all to _'recruit'_ Hana Song, but he could not deny any additional personnel given to him from the varying countries they sought to keep the peace in. The Korean Army's offering had been two fold; a first-hand look at the MEKA in action and in blueprints to potentially establish trade. Their unique technology would serve to advance Overwatch well, restoring it back to the frontrunner of breakthroughs. To deny their generosity would have soured any attempts to establish relations.

Perhaps if he was commander again, he would be above harbouring hatred and grudges over something he didn't agree with, but the fact is he wasn't, and he was allowed to be selfish. The irony always pleased him when he noted the gorilla's patience thinning by the hour. He only stopped (for the day) when he begrudgingly realised just how bitter he had grown to be over the years, and attributed it to his immovable stubbornness and age.

In any case, he decided to see how she was fitting in. Being the youngest member by a good margin could make it difficult for her to mesh well with the other agents, especially with everyone's nationality being so varied, the culture shock must have been quite heavy on her. Yet any moment he had spied the long-haired mech pilot, she had always been peppy, or playing games on her tablet.

It didn't take long to find her, as she was taking up the majority of the sofa in the base's lounge, head back over the rest and eyes focused on the screen of her device, hair pooling at the floor. Soldier: 76 raised a bushy brow at the sight. Kids sure do find the strangest ways to entertain themselves.

Approaching her, he placed his hands on the back of her head and guided her back up to a proper position, not melting over the side of the sofa, much to her protest and likely vulgarity in Korean, which silenced at the sight of whom did it. Hana squinted, sticking her tongue out at him. She had learned to read emotion through the soldier's eyebrows as his visor and face mask covered much; and judging by the tilt of one and the rise of another, he was unimpressed.

"You'll get cramp in your neck if you stay like that for too long," he chided. "And what if someone else wanted to sit on the sofa? You're taking up a lot of space."

"You make me lose this game," the young adult waved the tablet in his face. "and now tell me off? Sheesh, why did I ever think you were the _fun_ one around here, Dad."

As usual, he would chew her out about referring to him as some kind of paternal figure, but settled for a long, drawn out sigh instead. He'll let her have this one, as apology for losing the game. He tapped the back of her bunny-themed slippers to move so he may sit, yet as she drew her legs back and allowed him the space, she only stuck them back over his lap when he sat.

"I have the sudden impulse for an impromptu combat lesson about an enemy grappling the legs."

That got her to withdraw them away properly.

Jack eyed her again as she once more became absorbed into whatever game she was playing. He had intended to go into one of his infamous speeches about fitting in as she appeared alone when he found her, but watching her now, he realised that – perhaps – it wasn't needed. He inwardly winced, as his mind was quick to amend that with _'he wasn't needed.'_ Not just for Hana's sake, either. Overwatch seemed to be doing well even without him as strike commander. It was a reoccurring thought that sought to sully his mood and faith in himself.

He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward with the silence, before he broke it with a sheepish;

"This.. game of yours?"

Hana immediately looked up, surprised and pleased at his question. Soldier: 76 rarely showed interest in her activities unless they involved danger or something he personally didn't agree with, and grinned widely at his unsubtle, weak attempt to show some willingness to engage. Her attention only increased his discomfort, and she swung her legs to the floor and slid closer so he had access to the screen as well.

"It's a collectable online card video game called _Hearthstone,_ " she began to explain. "You make a deck of thirty cards based on the hero you've selected and fight other players. You also have a set amount of mana every turn to spend to summon minions, or use spells. That kind of thing."

Jack studied the screen, which shown various tokens and numbers that he didn't really understand, though the goal seemed simple enough. He was never a big fan of video games, even in his youth, he only had his country in mind. The closest thing to games were probably football and soccer with the other soldiers. There also appeared to be his face and part of Hana's, followed by a continuous flowing chat, though he supposed that was probably part of the game, even if they couldn't see their opponents face.

"It seems.. complicated."

"Ah, I'm sure you'd get the hang of it once you actually played it. The game comes with a tutorial." she giggled. Unbeknown to the soldier, the professional gamer had been streaming her matches as part of the downtime from the main attraction of her show, and the inclusion of another agent of Overwatch she had talked so much about would definitely boost her already high ratings and watches. Her eyes moved to the chat, catching sight of their comments regarding Jack, and all but had to withhold her laughter. The sound of the rope beginning to burn in-game jolted her back to reality, and she quickly made her move.

As she finished the match with a win, she nudged the man's shoulder in encouragement.

"So what do you say, Dad? You think you got what it takes to play the game?"

He huffed. "If it gets you to stop calling me _'dad.'_ and start calling me Jack instead, then _yes_." At the very least, Hana would not know the significance behind his name, or his deep rooted involvement. He had no qualms sharing his identity with her.

"Sweet! Here, I'll make you a deck. We in the trade call it, the _Control Warrior._ "

Although the match had resulted in a loss, Jack had played admirably. Initially, Hana was going to give him a far more easier, cheesier play style, but thought that the essence of control-themed decks suited the ex-commander well. As per her fan request, she abstained from helping unless there was a mechanic that he asked to be explained, and given she was at Legend rank and it was his first ever match, he had the potential. She could just imagine it now, the oldest Hearthstone player, making his own channel to rival hers..

She couldn't help it. She burst out in a fit of laughter.

Soldier: 76's brows knitted together, a clear sign that he was frowning under that face mask, and indignantly rose his head as if that'd restore whatever dignity he had lost.

"Bah. I have better things to do than to waste time playing games, what did you expect the match would be like?"

After calming down, she grinned, remaining mirth still residing in her eyes and she wiped at her eyes. He seemed to have misunderstood the source of her laughter, and thus she corrects him.

"No, no, you played well. Really! I was just thinking about how you'd so easily take me down in this game given a bit of practice. My oh so _loyal_ fans seem to want to follow you, but you don't have a streaming channel."

He blanched. Now the chat and the webcam made sense.

"You have been… _streaming_ this?"

"Of course! I always broadcast my Hearthstone matches."

Slowly, he rose from the sofa, swallowing every ounce of pride he had left that was shattered, and ruffled atop the hair of the bemused young adult. Everything had been heard – from the fatherly comments, him giving away his identity to the – he just looked, _millions_ of viewers – and his defeat at the hands of a video game. He drew in a breath, sighed, and muttered as he left;

"I am getting too old for this."


	12. Rejoin

**Title** : Rejoin

 **Characters** : Pharah. (Widowmaker, Winston.)

 _ **a small out of story note:** Just letting you know that characters that are in brackets are ones that usually have minor or unmentioned roles, in case there was confusion. Also whilst I'm at it, I'll mention that you're welcome to pitch in any kind of scene or idea you'd like to see or explored, even if I may not be able to write all of them. I have almost covered every character at this point now. Hanzo, Widowmaker and Symmetra have yet to have a more prominent role/their own drabble. - Guixi_

* * *

The Temple of Anubis, nestled within ruins of the Giza Plateau on the outskirts of Cairo, Egypt, remained an area of much mystery for the average citizen. Many waved it off as merely being a dig site for archaeologists and treasure hunters, though came up blank when questioned why Helix soldiers milled around in the compound, strictly securing it. Nobody was allowed into the temple grounds without their inspection.

Beyond the public eye, the temple once housed a god program – an incredibly dangerous rogue artificial intelligence – which now remained defunct and deactivated, although outright destroying it would have proved too destructive given it's deep rooted connections. The original Overwatch had quarantined the program with the aid of Helix during it's prime.

Yet soldiers get transferred, discharged or simply retire or pass away; and the knowledge of their purpose within the temple had slowly faded into obscurity, to the point where they did not know why they had to guard the area, but simply followed the orders of the brass up top.

Pharah was thankfully no such individual. She had been privy to the secret research base beneath the temple, had received specialized training suited for the job. Sitting post high up to oversee any who might approach the main or side gates, she absent-mindedly stroked the bird-like visor and helmet resting in her lap, thoughts drawn back in memory as it often did to pass the long waits.

It was through this classified information she had heard of Overwatch. Hell, she had been excited about their involvement, and at one point she had the top priority to enlist in the peacekeeping force, but the organization's bickering with each other had ended that dream before it could even begun. The Egyptian soldier scoffed – that's how she came about the name 'Pharah.', thinking it was an adequate call sign befitting of the force's naming conventions.

Yet all the memory she had left of that broken establishment were a chance meeting with the original members gushing about how _proud_ her mother would have been. The grip on her helmet tightened, and her lips twisted in a sneer.

They really did not know her well, then.

Unfortunately for the security chief, this was merely the calm before the storm. Little activity usually happened when keeping watch – encounters with enthusiastic treasure hunters were few and far between, and almost never escalated to the point of violence. As the wind picked up and gushed grains of sand and hot air, the Egyptian woman pulled up her chequered scarf up over her mouth and nose, before placing her helmet back on to protect her eyes. Everything lined up to be just a regular watch day.

A bullet sliced through the air silently, the sound from it's gun too distant to alert the guards, however the screams from the dying men was more than enough to cause alarm. Pharah immediately jolted, standing up and hoisting up her fallen rocket launcher. A brief glance to the side gate revealed two Helix guards bleeding out – too late to save, even if she radioed for medical assistance. The entire compound suddenly buzzed with activity; a siren going off distantly.

Yet from her vantage point, the chief could not see a thing. All that stretched before them were desert, sun-coloured dunes and the odd scenic ancient ruin. Fareeha did not panic, however, even if inwardly she grimaced and shoved all of her fear in a little box in the back of her mind. Now was the time for action.

Several more shots sailed in the air; removing the guards stationed at the front. A moment passed before the sands appeared to explode with a multitude of Talon agents decked in full desert camouflage opened fire on the steady stream of Helix's response force. The quiet plateau now erupted into a deadly battlefield, bricks scorched by the heat of the plasma rifles and the wind picked up to further a harsher environment. Though it was the least of their worries now, a sandstorm was brewing and thus making Talon's window of opportunity small, and Helix's safety unlikely once it came.

"Talon must not gain entry!" the chief yelled over the communication system, eyes glued to the scene of the battle as her mind worked overtime. "Block off the side entrances and fall back to the bridge – create a choke point!"

As the soldiers began to obey her orders, Pharah launched off from the high platform with the help of her jets, hovering in the air and keeping mindful of her fuel before lining up her weapon and letting loose a steady stream of rockets down at the entrance, offering cover fire for Helix as they fell back and held off the footsoldiers of Talon. Some caught wind of her presence, turning to aim their rifles at her, but an airborne target was often a tricky one to hit, using it to her advantage.

Her armour alerted her of it's fuel status, and she returned to the platform, allowing it to recharge, utilizing the towering pillars that reached to the sky as her cover. Now that guards of Helix were back in position, she returned to her radio. Although they had the upper hand, the force securing the temple were few, and judging by the looks of Talon, they vastly outnumbered her. The terrorists were not stupid – eventually they would try to find a way around the choke point by breaching the sides.

"This is Security Chief Amari," she said the moment the device connected to headquarters. "The temple is under attack by agents of Talon. I am requesting backup."

"Your – unstable, Chief," a static-filled voice said from device, cutting on and off. "We – repeat – us?"

"Headquarters, do you receive me?" Pharah tried again, trying not to allow desperation sink into her voice as she risked a glance back to the battlefield. Talon had abandoned attempting the front entrance again, and their mystery sniper assistant was picking off the securing forces at the sides quite nicely. Switching to the local channel, the Egyptian barked orders to get under cover, even if it meant compromising the entrance. She did not want any more men and women dead under her watch.

The other channel beeped, and switching back to it once again gave her a fuzzy, unintelligible call. She muttered curses under her breath, as the request for backup would have to wait. The growing sandstorm picked up further; and the air began to fill with more grains of hot sand that pelted against her visor. Perhaps she would have better reception after it momentarily subsides, for now, they were on their own.

To think, an hour ago, everything was quiet.

Once more the woman took to the skies, raining down rockets upon the forces of Talon, though she could spot that their blockade wouldn't last long. The soldiers themselves had wisely chosen to cover, and whilst the splash and shrapnel from her weapon's explosion was mighty, to offer aerial support was placing her directly in the sights of their sniper. It was only by the graces of the ruin's pillars that she had not been shot down yet.

Pharah decided that she may be more useful on the ground behind the blockade with direct support, yet she had thought too soon about their sniper's ability. As she began to descend and briefly offer an unimaginably small window for them; the bullet sailed and pierced into her armour, specifically surrounding her right jet. She thanked Helix's amazing foresight in design, as had it been made by lesser hands, she would've been set ablaze by fuel leakage, which was likely the sniper's intent. A brief scan of her armour showed no outlasting damage, and she was still able to use her jets.

The battle toiled on for a while, remaining at that impasse. The token force lasted impressively, long enough for the sandstorm to kick in fully and force Talon back into deeper cover and Helix further into the compound. It was a much needed break to tend to the wounded and restock their ammo. Pharah also briefly repaired the damage to her suit from rifle fire and the sniper's attempts, though could not do much without getting a qualified engineer out in the field.

Time passed in tense readiness, yet as the storm began to wane into an uncomfortable yet safer heat, the agents of Talon appeared to have vanished into the thick of the sandstorm. Pharah's mind was quick, believing they had retreated to try a more underground attempt at breaching the compound, but continuous patrols and searched came up nothing. It was an intense moment that lead to a handful of causalities and many wounded, to which she absent-mindedly instructed to be priority.

The woman relaxed just a margin as they likely would not attempt again, but she couldn't help but shake of the feeling that the assault was merely attempting at what kind of defence Helix had set up for the temple. Their attack did not seem to have any method or strategy, and thus she concluded they were gathering intelligence. That was what frightened her the most out of it – a second fight could be devastating, especially if they come better equipped, now that they knew what lay in wait.

Communications beeped lightly, signalling it's online status, though it was not headquarters that she called. Her eyes closed briefly, steeling herself. A single tone indicated she was now connected.

"This is Security Chief Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International." she intoned. "I would like to schedule a meeting with Agent Winston of Overwatch."

"Speaking – and regarding?" a surprised rumble of a voice sounded from the other side. She recognized it to belong to the aforementioned gorilla.

"Talon … and a renewal of my application."


	13. Reapply

**Title** : Reapply

 **Characters** : Symmetra, Torbjörn, (Junkrat)

 **Note** : _I am so sorry this took forever to post and it's not even that long compared to the last few.. a pretty nasty flu struck my household, and I've been ill with the worst sore throat imaginable. This was kind of written over a peroid of a few days, so I apologize if the writing seems a bit spotty or jumping around. Hopefully you can forgive me! Now, I'm going to huddle up in some blankets and strepsils x_x - Guixi_

* * *

The blue light shimmered in a swirling orb above her smooth, metallic augmented hand, liquid brown hues intense with concentration as she envisioned her construct. Her fingers snapped to a point, her fleshy hand moving to grip the light and stretch it into several points, before wrapping the light around itself in multiple loops as it formed a more durable mesh. The digits fanned out, eyebrows knitting together in thought.

A few minor adjustments here and there before she nodded in satisfaction, providing the blueprints and planning for her sentry turret before setting it to be built on the wall. The materials built themselves afterwards as she oversaw. With each new opportunity that they were destroyed, brought her one step closer to ironing out all flaws in her design, and creating the perfect tool for it's job. While she did indeed class her creations as failures when they were taken down, failure was a stepping stone to success. Without it, she would not be able to achieve her vision.

Her reality.. it was a nebulous thought, with vast endless possibilities, some that seemed nigh impossible to achieve, yet she did not believe in _impossibilities_ _._ It merely took time and dedication. To eradicate all of humanity's disorder was quite the undertaking, one that she shared the burden with Vishkar, though given conversations with Overwatch's Winston, she was beginning to.. doubt the company's actions to achieve that same goal.

Symmetra's loyalty was still founded in the company, naturally, but it wasn't as solidly bedrock as it once was. Simply put, being around agents of Overwatch, especially the younger members, made her learn of their negative regard with Vishkar's handling of urban development. She was allowed to sit and listen to their feedback, even the corporation's well known enemies, namely dos Santos. There was more to the kid than a ' _freedom-fighting upstart_ ' the company labelled him as.

.. That wasn't to say she was about to get friendly. No, she disagreed with him just as much, but at the very least, she had time to revise strategy and understand how hostile Vishkar attempt to control Rio de Janeiro was, and how empty their promises truly had been. They had been promised better lives, but it seemed only to be an improvement depending on what shoes you stand in.

Nevertheless, Vishkar was an afterthought, now. Winston explicitly wanted her word that she would not put the company's interests ahead of Overwatch for the condition of her affiliation. If that meant getting first hand experience and knowledge on the peacekeeping force's infamous research and engineering capabilities, it was a sacrifice she and Vishkar were willing to take.

The sounds of metal grinding against metal stirred her out of her deep thoughts, and the small blue light that had sprung in her absent-mindedness shattered in a million particles within the clench of her fist. To think, she – a light bender – shared the same engineering space as a _metalworker._ By the graces of whom that metalworker was did she withhold complaints.

"Still working with primitive materials, Lindholm?" her thick voice managed to carry out over the din, a bemused slant marring the usual lack of emotion. It was met with the hissing of steam, intensifying as she approached the Swedish weaponsmith's workshop. Even though his vision was obscured by the safety of his welding mask, she could feel the glare that seemed permanently creased on his face.

"My _primitive materials_ only need so much as to look at your fancy light show and it'll collapse." he snorted. "Now pass me my hammer."

Frankly, Symmetra liked Torbjörn, as a peer and person. He was always to the point, and did not care for small talk, which was more than she could say about the other agents. As an engineer, his choice of work was inferior in her mind, but still commanded respect and admiration. He was crafting great weapons of destruction before she was even born, after all. His turrets were indeed far more durable than her own, and offered a greater breadth of dominance. She noted to include a design that enhanced defence in the next creation, and perhaps even mobility.

She waltz over towards the table, hefting the metallic monstrosity that the dwarf called his hammer and handed to his outstretched hand, stepping back to avoid the sparks and flecks of lava as he pounded away on his latest creation. As far as she recalled, he named it the _Kanon_ – supposedly something to do with rockets. It was far too destructive for her tastes.

It was morbidly fascinating watching him work, as it was such a contrast from her own. It was dangerous, loud, and from the looks of the oil stained man, messy too. Her lips twitched in a frown. Though she would not say so out loud, but Torbjörn certainly possessed the mind to innovate using far cleaner and recently discovered materials. Why stick to something so archaic?

"Spit it out," she was startled by his sudden statement. "Your entitled to speak your mind free of consequence in my workshop. No point stifling creativity."

She hesitated, disgusted with the feeling of being so hesitant, and settled on something else entirely. "Your – _Kanon_ , did you call it? – has exposed points here, at the wiring connecting the power supply to the main guns and here, where the legs stand."

To her credit, her voice did not waver and her face did not show an ounce of her true feelings. Truthfully, Symmetra had a hard time expressing herself adequately when she wanted to be invested emotionally, which was rare in the first place. She appreciated the older man's practicality and maturity.

Torbjörn scoffed, flipping up the welding mask to give her a rather scalding glare. He had a feeling that wasn't what she initially wanted to say, but didn't push her. If she didn't want to tell him, then he was not going to force her. It was as simple as that.

"Of course it has exposed points, it's not _finished_ yet." he gestured to the metal plating that resided on the ground beside him, ready to be placed on.

"I forget that your creations take more than just a thought." she chuckled airily. "When will it be completed?"

The dwarf scratched at his beard, seemingly deep in thought as he studied his work, looking as though he truly was considering her question. But they both knew it was a ruse, as the sentiment did not reach his eyes, and a grumpy look did.

"When it's _done_!"

The world must have stopped for a split second, because Satya cracked an involuntary smile at his words. It lasted all for a fraction, before a low rumble cut through the amicable atmosphere and shook the room. She steadied herself on the bench, all traces of a smile gone, whereas the engineer seemed to swear and roll his eyes skyward.

"Junkrat's latest project." spat Torbjörn. "He's going to bring this entire base down if he keeps this up."

"Hm. I believe I will begin my own project – creating a particle shield big enough to secure the base. To think, I could find inspiration in such obsolete creations?"


	14. Rebalance

**Title** : Rebalance

 **Characters** : Hanzo, (Genji)

 _ **Note** : Thanks to all who have sent in requests or ideas. I've got a nice little queue of things to write now, as well as a few more ideas myself that I'm going to expand upon. So keep a look out there! I'm still a bit ill, so updates will be slow and the content a little off, but I'm recovering. _

_As for this one, consider it a 'part 2' from the '_ Reawake' _drabble. Genji is still working for Overwatch, and Hanzo gets a unwitting sneek peek of what has become of his brother, and the organizations at large. Also, I'm going to stop trying to put notes into my drabbles, ahaha. - Guixi._

* * *

The metallic gauntlet remained outstretched as a soft, pink petal drifts lazily down, carried only by the autumn breeze, resting neatly into the glove's palm. Fingers then curled, not careful not to crush the fragile blossom, thumb gently – ever so gently – grazing over it's smooth surface, before letting it be released back into the wind.

Truthfully, he never thought he would be back here again, not so soon after paying his respects.

Hanamura remained the beautiful village he remembered it as, even if it's idyllic reputation was tarnished by the likes of his family's empire. Unassuming it was, full of quiet streets and cheerful inhabitants, tucked away in it's picturesque scenery, behind city walls and the stain of the criminal enterprise. It held much ancestral significance to him, but after that fateful night it brought nothing but tainted memories of brotherly rapport.

Hanzo Shimada allowed himself this one moment of reprieve, even if a part of him nagged that he didn't deserve it. The death of his younger brother still haunted him greatly, and no amount of lowlife scum he killed could wash the blood of him off his hands. But, he continued to hunt, anyway, believing that one day – perhaps it would. Perhaps it would restore some lost part of him.

 _It wouldn't bring Genji back.._

His hands clutched tightly against the wood of the platform he knelt upon, knuckles of his fleshy hand turning white. No matter what he did, his mind betrayed him. Thick brows furrowed deeply, brown eyes hardening into a rocky glare. He was plagued with this curse, and what made it worse – was his willingness to give himself self-pity. He did not deserve to wallow in grief, for his actions had been a necessary evil he must burden.

Especially since his leave had been the tipping point for the clan's demise. The name _Shimada_ would simply be the dirt on Hanamura's expansive history, and in place, Overwatch, and their heroic deeds. While he had left, he had kept in tenuous touch with the dealings of the empire. How the peacekeeping force knew of the true locations of stockpiles and high-ranking members were beyond him.

The time to drown in misery was no more. The target of his hunt – some criminal upstart that a rival wanted dead – slipped out from one of the bamboo, sliding doors. He seemed to be accompanied by three men, all in black suits and black sunglasses, likely bodyguards. Hanzo felt his lip curl back in a sneer, knowing that only so long ago, was him in that same situation when he was younger.

He withdrew a compacted arrow that would fragment and slay all in it's wake, notching it silently on his Storm Bow. The winds were favourable, his target ignorant. All that remained were to pull back the string and let go.

That was, until he was winded, a heavy figure tackling him roughly to the ground, and his arrow misfired, embedding uselessly in the post near to the group. The man below let out a startled gasp, and within seconds he was escorted quickly out of the area, huddled safely within the group of guards.

The pain that shot up his spine was negligible to the fury that brewed from being denied his honour, and utilized his free arm to swing his weapon in front of him. His attack was not meant to harm; as simple he needed to get the assailant off him. The Japanese man got a better look at him, though his keen eyes could not discern anything useful from his full body, metal suit.

The mystery man ( – if it was even a man ) rolled off of him, narrowly avoiding the swiping arc of the his bow and stepped back to a reasonable distance. He was not one to usually employ such wild and unrefined tactics, yet desperation called for sudden action, and the other options were ones he wanted to avoid for the meantime.

It was easy for Hanzo to stand, distributing most of his weight on the balls of his feet as he remained stooped in a low crouch. For a tense moment they faced off; the glint of the opponent's katana gracing the tip of the floor before being steadily risen to a stance he swore he had seen before, whilst the living man reached for his arrow.

"You have denied me a stepping stone towards gaining honour," the bowman grounded out. "Killing you will rebalance that."

He was greeted with a voice marred with an electronic undercurrent and digital tone; "Isn't once enough, Shimada?"

There was a feeling of cold dread that crept up his back like icy talons, as if he was staring at a ghost. He inwardly shook himself – such things did not exist, and the only thing that he knew of this assailant was his bold move and cybernetic suit. Perhaps such feeling was merely the Dragon judging upon him – he missed once, he would not do so again.

"I have no clue of which you speak," spat Hanzo. "You have interfe-"

"Do you even know who you were going to assassinate?" the figure cuts him off scathingly. The bowman's response was to raise his weapon, arrow notched back as his muscles tensed. His keen eyes noted that even though his suit was metal; he too seemed to brace the oncoming attack. A tense moment passes as neither of them instigated, and prompted the other to continue.

After all, it wasn't Hanzo's duty to know whom he was killing. His fury remained tempestuous as he thought on the fact that he was a trained assassin, a mercenary, and the disgraced lord of the Shimada clan, doing the dirty work of questionable men. His employer had been nothing special; other than providing enough information to kill the criminal.

"He was a diplomat."

"I care not for-"

"Returning from Numbani. If you had killed him, it would have seemed the Omnics had a hand in it."

His bow lowered just a fraction, plainly seeing his point. Starting a war between the humans and the Omnics, unwillingly or not, would not be the path to his redemption. Furthermore, it became obvious that his employer had lied and manipulated the facts surrounding his target, which made him all the more vengeful. He will grant one mercy towards the stranger for his actions, for he had spared him committing further condemnation.

Brown eyes glanced up to the cool green of the figure's visor, and the bowman was the first to drop his aggressive stance, easing up to a standing position. He cared not if the other followed in his stead; watching from the corner of his eye the stainless metal of the blade still glinting in the morning light.

"Then I must thank you for preventing me from making a grave mistake." his eyes narrowed. "However next we meet, shall not be so courteous, stranger. You have little idea of whom you are dealing with."

The figure chuckled lowly, the sound harsh in his ears with it mangled by the technology that encased him.

"I have plenty of idea, Hanzo Shimada, but it is you who is in the dark. You are not ready to know."

"Know what?"

Unsurprisingly, he did not receive an answer, only more questions as the figure sheathed his blade and left the Japanese marksman to his thoughts. If the target of his hunt was a diplomat and not a criminal, then he likely fell under Overwatch's protection. That gave some clue to his assailants identity, as well as his employers.

Needless to say, Hanzo did not like to be played for a fool. He would rectify his near mistake – in blood, if needs be.


	15. Regret

**Title** : Regret

 **Characters** : Gabriel Reyes (Reaper), Jack Morrison (S:76), Tracer, (Ana Amari, Liao)

* * *

"That one."

A finger was pointed at the dossier containing information on a female pilot known as Lena Oxton, before retracting away to the safety of his arms. The gathered men and women murmured and muttered between themselves, debating their Blackwatch commander's words. They were quickly silenced by the lilt of his brow and the rise of his gaze, before a fellow soldier was brave enough to speak out.

"She's a little young," Jack Morrison hesitated, picking up his personal documents and flipping to her page. He was surprised by his friend's choice, especially since he did not even glance at the other applicants. His thumb rested on the mugshot of their candidate, a youthful visage with a plume of brown hair and full lips determined to smirk, even if her expression was neutral.

"True, but she has guts." Gabriel Reyes argued. "We need someone who's fearless."

"Getting boxed around the ears by flight lieutenants because of rambunctious behaviour does not translate as gutsy." grounded out the American. The other gathered agents remained silent, bemusedly watching the two banter back and forth. It wasn't the first time they would come to an impasse over something, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it sure was entertaining.

"We need someone who can follow orders as well, Gabe." he tried instead, falling back on familiarity, even cracking a grin. "Oxton is too much of a wildcard."

"First of all, you know I hate that nickname. Secondly, are you telling me you wouldn't be able to handle a twenty-something pilot?" The darker skinned man rose an inquisitive brow, lips twisting in a sidelong smirk as he tried to contain his mirth. "I'm starting to wonder if you rigged your officer test in the military."

"Reyes, this is _serious_."

"Do I look like the type to joke with you?" His tone was completely flat.

"Retract your claws, kittens." The brief tension was broke by the thickly accented voice of Ana Amari, an Egyptian sharpshooter. Her painted lips were curved into a smile, as she could enjoy the two bicker at each other like an old married couple for days, but frankly, she did not want the meeting to wait that long. Slim digits plucked the dossier out of Jack's hand, gaze flicking over the contents before nodding to herself.

"Sorry, Jack. I'm with Reyes on this one – Oxton seems like a great candidate. She's the kind to love getting into risky business, including experimental flights. That kind of enthusiasm doesn't come by often – not with her accolades."

The American soldier refused to meet the smug gaze of his rival and friend, muttering something under his breath as he reacquired his document. He clearly didn't like the choice, but from the faces and tone of the collective whispering, everyone else seemed to slowly turn to Gabriel's side. Truthfully, he felt as though the possibility of wasting a life – a life so young as Lena's – was burden too much to bear.

Yet he knew he couldn't let his heart get in the way of his tactical thinking. For all the obstacles he may throw in the way, Lena was the best pilot that had ever been trained that generation. She may have had her shortcomings with instructors, but ultimately when she settled down and put her mind to it, she was a real aerial ace.

"Fine. But it's on your head," he pointed accusingly at Gabriel. "If anything happens to her."

"I'll take responsibility like a true commander would, Morrison." the other man replied, upper lip threatening to curl into a sneer as coal-black eyes narrowed. Ana wisely cleared her throat to interrupt the two, shooting both a silent message: _don't start._

"Well, if we've all decided, I will get in contact with Miss Oxton." interjected Liao, inwardly thankful at Ana's foresight to stop the two bickering. It was benign rivalry and tension at best, given the two's growing rift, but it had been lately pretty quiet as the missions had been dwindling down, though clearly there were still some things left unresolved.

"Aye."

* * *

Lena Oxton had been over the moon when she had received that contact. There was a spring in her step, a fat, content smile on her face and nothing that could damper her mood. Even her briefcase's wobbly wheel did not threaten to sour her, especially as it kept bumping on the uneven parts of the ramps and jolting a little shock up her arm – no, she was determined to remain happy.

To be able to do something like this was her dream, and the fact that it was Overwatch that had contacted her, made it all the more better. Admittedly, she was a bit of a fan – okay, scratch that – she was a HUGE fan of the force, and it almost made her want to fly back to England and rub her opportunity in the face of her old instructors.

Fortunately, she was not generally a spiteful person, and hindsight was twenty-twenty. She realised she perhaps was not the most well-behaved pupil, but it all didn't matter. She was here now.

"Hello, Overwatch!" she beamed, arms spread out wide, unassuming of the fact her travelcase was slowly inching over the ramp. "Your new pilot is – where is my – AH!"

Quickly twisting around, she panicked and tried to stop her rolling case, running after it and paying no attention to the watching eyes of the personnel. Thankfully, a man had stopped it before it had went out of control and spilled all of it's contents on the floor. Her hands rested on her thighs, chest heaving as she caught her breath and her cheeks flushed impressive rosy red in embarrassment.

"Rest assured you won't be chasing any suspects down, or else they would be long gone." he said, face turning into a rugged grin as she broke out into breathless laughter. She wasn't out of shape, but even she could not outrun wheels on a slope. Lena leant back up, tilting up her sunglasses to rest in the nest of her hair and offered a lopsided smile.

"I am so – so sorry, sir. I'm not making a great first impression, am I?" the reddened colour of her cheeks seemed to spread down her neck as she rubbed the back of it awkwardly, then straightened up her posture and stuck out her hand. "Lena Oxton, love! Overwatch's brand, spankin' new pilot!"

Gabriel studied her lighter brown eyes with his darker black, hand snaking out from his pocket to firmly grasp Lena's. He noted (then surprised himself that he did so) that they were soft and warm, likely having just been removed from the comfort of gloves. They lacked the rough callouses that his own earned. He shook it absent mindedly, never lingering and letting his hand return to the safety of his jacket's pocket.

"Commander Gabriel Reyes. I suppose I get the honour of being the first to introduce you to our main Switzerland base. Did you enjoy your flight?"

Another thing he noted was that the spry woman was quite animated, in movement, in chatting; she did not stiffly answer his question as any soldier would when a commander addressed them, but her hands flowed and moved to emphasis what she said, her brows peaked and furrowed at various displays of emotion: it was quite fascinating to watch.

"Well, I can say I've always flown _first_ class – get it, because I'm the pilot – but this was a load of codswallop! Did you know what they did?"

"No?"

"They wouldn't let me fly my own bloody plane flight here! Terrible, I tell you. Absolutely terrible."

That got a rare chuckle out of him, to which Lena grinned victoriously at. She found enjoyment at making others laugh, as she managed to giggle along with her own mirth. Unbeknown to her, Gabriel was pondering at what he may have unleashed on Overwatch with spearheading the pilot's application to be accepted, before deciding that there was comedy in misery, and it would lighten up some of the stuffier agents.

"I'll be sure to give the flight attendants a stern talking to." he promised. "In any case, you should get settled in. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

* * *

Gabriel Reyes was.. disgruntled when he had learned of the accident. There were initial rage at the engineers, even if they tried to pacify him with technical talk that did not interest him. The fury only brewed further when he spotted Morrison, his presence screaming unsaid words of _'I told you so.'_ and callous judgements. It was only his will that stopped him from punching him in his smug face.

But eventually it had all subsided into a tranquil hatred that would linger like a festering wound. He knew that he had a hard time dealing with his emotions and an even harder time expressing them: he may appear friendly, cordial – amicable even, to comrades and fellow soldiers, but how much of it was felt and what was put on remained a mystery to all but him.

He remained by his call that Lena was still the best pilot for the job, but he still could not help feel that the accident would be a blemish on his call of judgement, and how people would swoop to Jack's words. His hands clenched into fists, and once again, resisted doing something that would draw attention.

Winston had been his – and Lena's – salvation when he had came up with that device. The chronal accelerator, he called it. For all he cared, it brought back the dead, and their hotshot pilot was not longer deemed killed. If anything, this accident proved to be informational for the engineers and scientists and beneficial to the pilot in question. It gave her abilities that man could only dream: control over her own time.

She hadn't taken the experience well. He felt.. something ..when he saw how the perky, upbeat face was mangled into a ghostly visage of what it once was. The girl did not smile the entire time, which concerned their doctor, whom offered to give her a psych evaluation. Unsurprisingly, it was turned down.

It had been a couple days since she had been recovered from the incident and rightly had been given time to adjust to the device. Reyes had avoided broaching the subject to Lena until some time had passed, and when he deemed it long enough, he was at her door, knocking gently.

"Come in."

He entered, immediately grimacing when he spied the young woman sprawled out on the bed, eyes blearily staring up at the ceiling, blanket half strewn over her. If he had to guess from the puffy and redness of her eyes, she had been crying, which meant he underestimated how much time she needed. Begrudgingly, he was mildly confused over why she would be so upset over her position, though wisely chose not to mention as such. His lack of empathy was not needed right now.

So, he offered some forced sympathy. "You holding up all right there, sweetheart?"

She groaned, rolling onto her chest, only to increasingly grumble in frustration. She couldn't lay like that unless she wanted to squash her ribcage and swiftly returned to her back, then responded with a pillow toss. He caught it without even flinching.

"You sound like Jesse, love." complained Lena. "Except you don't have the excuse of being creepily obsessed with westerns."

Gabriel cracked a smile. At least there was some part of the wildcard still in her that he recruited, which meant it was not all for naught. He grabbed her arm gently, yanking her up to a sitting position much to her protest.

"Then I'll be the one to give you some tough love. You've been given more than adequate moping period, Tracer." he chided. "I thought you were all about looking at the bright side of life. You have something unique. Do you realise how much of a boon to Overwatch you'll become with your abilities?"

Something seemed to click in the woman, because gone was sorrow, replaced with a bubbling temper that he could see had been brewing the past few days. Her hand breezed through her mop of hair, ever remaining as expressive as her gestures.

"You don't understand, Gabriel!" she spat. "Is it really worth what I went through? I-I was lost. It was like I was simultaneously drowning and floating in the flow of time and I _still_ have _nightmares._ I wake up in cold sweats over what I saw."

Awkwardly, he realised she was confiding in him. His posture was ramrod straight, though luckily he didn't have time to say anything and risk spurning her further, as she continued.

"I will _never_ fly again. The one thing that's in my heart – every time I get behind the wheel I just, freeze, and think back to the malfunction – and.. I will _**never**_ be able to do it again."

Lena's head was bowed as she finished, gaze downcast as she stared at her bare feet. A thick, uncomfortable silence settled over the two of them as Reyes tried to gather his thoughts to something that didn't come across as insensitive. Give him battlefield and he would conquer it, but the emotions of a distraught woman? That was one battle he had yet to defeat.

"The main thing is that it's over now, Lena. You're **not** in that position any more. You're no longer lost – you're here, with us, at Overwatch." he started hesitantly, picking up certainty as he went on. "And we need heroes like you more than ever to combat the ever growing criminal network. You feel as if you've lost purpose because you can't fly any more."

She nodded, silent.

"Then let me give you purpose through what you are given. Your.. _talents_ could be used in Blackwatch operations." Finally, he got to the subject he wished to discuss.

"I don't offer this lightly unless I truly believe you are capable."

"I don't know, love." she sighed quietly. "Overwatch is under a lot of criticism as it is. Agents are constantly arguing with each other, missions are turning up more failures than ever. Do you know the public rumour that you _assassinate_ targets?"

 _No, no, no_! Gabriel's teeth clenched, but he refused to let his ego get the better of him. The woman was still sore as it was and provoking her could drive her entirely away from the idea. He spoke when he believed his voice was measured enough to not come across as growling.

"We disproved that long ago. Honestly, Lena, I'm hurt you'd think that of me."

She bowed her head yet again. As it seemed he would not be able to pursue it further today, he stood up, grasping her shoulder warmly and ruffling her hair with his free hand. She grumpily fixed it afterwards, even if it was beyond repair in the first place.

"Just.. think on it. I won't impose a deadline yet. You have a lot of potential, Oxton, and I'd hate to see it get wasted. You know where to find me if you make your mind."

As he was about to leave, the British woman shot up and wrapped her arms around the Commander in an embrace, startling him. He froze completely in her touch, though thankfully he was not given enough time to respond as she withdrew and offered the tiniest of smiles. In his stupor, he managed to somehow force a small smile back.

"Thanks, love. I guess I just needed a real boot up the arse about this."

"Always happy to kick your ass, Lena."

He left to the refreshing sound of a hoarse chuckle. Good. That would hopefully push her more to his side, when the storm comes after the calm.


	16. Relief

**Title** : Relief

 **Characters** : Hanzo, Mercy, (Genji)

 **Note** _: This idea/concept was requested by at least two people, so thank you for sending in your suggestions and I hope you enjoy what I've done with it! - Guixi_

* * *

The sound of rushing cold water drowned out the quiet, soft humming of the doctor, hands sifting through the running stream and meticulously cleaning every nook and cranny, adding a bit of soap. Washing off the suds, she moved to dry them, song picking up volume now that the tap had been switched off. The evenings were always her favourite time of day, as after a long, hard shift she could unwind with perhaps a glass of wine, or even merely a book in her room.

She was far too exhausted to join her friends whom were likely drinking themselves silly in the mess hall. A warm smile captured her lips – no matter if they had work or were on the field, they always made room for a drink. Being first response, she could not afford to even entertain the idea of a hangover, but alcohol in moderation was manageable.

Mercy busied herself in her office still as she began to wind down, sorting through dossiers and equipment. She couldn't help it, really; the doctor hated the thought and feeling of being idle, and almost always needed to be contributing to the cause or doing something helpful. It.. was useful getting her mind of other matters.

Her work was not all first response. After a while, the shock of a badly injured patient or severe cases did not effect her as it once did; though lingering thoughts and questionable actions laid far heavily. She'd take a bloody scene over a bad trip down memory lane during her time as head of research any day. The things she discovered.. the means to such finds..

Thankfully, she was saved from such a moment as the door knocked, stirring her wits. Angela pulled away from the sink, fixed her messy blonde hair – some of it had sprung free from the ponytail during the shift – and spoke clearly, soft yet heavy voice twinged with amusement.

"It had better be an emergency at this hour, or I will have a hard time keeping my oath."

The door opened, and she recoiled slightly at the sight, genuine surprise flooding into blue eyes. Her cheeks warmed slightly in embarrassment, as it was not the man who she expected at the doorway. Instead of the hulking Crusader armour donned by a (likely drunk at this point) German, it was the stern visage of a Japanese marksman.

Hanzo Shimada was an.. interesting case. Mercy had learned much about him through mission reports back when Overwatch fought against his family's enterprise, as well as deep conversations with Genji on his road to recovery, both during the take-down and after coming to terms with himself with the help of a Shambali monk. The elder lord too had a similar journey of self discovery, however his path was marred with mystery and intrigue.

Truthfully, after spending so much time with Genji, she had been opposed to Hanzo's recruitment. She took everything the cybernetic ninja said with a grain of salt regarding his brother's character, knowing his judgement to be too harsh, but the ramifications of such an offer, as well as the possibility of stunting his progress to acceptance was.. too great of a margin of risk. Overwatch had suffered enough before with agents fighting agents, it did not need sibling rivalry at epic proportions to add to their list.

"Oh, Shimada," she murmured without missing a beat. "Forgive my informality, I believed you to be someone else."

He bowed his head, intense gaze briefly connecting with hers. It felt like a battle of will to not look away under his scrutiny, but when one of her closest friends was an abrasive weaponsmith, it took much to rile or shake her.

"No need to apologize, Doctor." His voice was rough speaking English, as it was not his first language nor was he as fluent as she; but it still held a pleasant tenor. "It is.. unconventional to catch you at this time."

He was hesitating, and Angela did not need to be a highly accoladed doctor and medical researcher to know that. There seemed to be a lot on his mind if she had to guess from the depression of his brow and way his gaze now avoided hers. After being so long as a lone wolf, she had to commend that he did not lose all social grace – it was understandable he was a little crude.

"Perhaps I should leave and seek you out in the morning."

She only needed a moment of internal debate before she made a small joke of rolling her eyes skyward, taking up the burden and gesturing him to enter her office. Mercy stepped further in, leaning over to her desk and switching the lamp back on as she slid back into her office chair.

"You have my undivided attention, Shimada." she chuckled. "I could not in good conscious refuse anyone in need. Even if that need is just for one to lend an ear."

He dipped his head and she took that as a sign of humility, shuffling inside as the door closed behind him. His posture was rigid – uncertain, as he was far out of his element. There were still discord that was in turmoil in his soul, as his standing with his brother was shaky at best, and the trust of the other agents were negligible. Often he toyed with the idea of simply leaving Overwatch, but other members with questionable pasts had made their home there; McCree and the Junkers, to name a few.

But even as he stood straight behind the chairs, feeling Angela's concerned yet patient gaze enveloping his form; none of his worries came to the tip of his tongue, instead rolling in his mind, wearing on him. He wet his lips, arms coming to fold over the back of the chair as he leaned on it and stared absent-mindedly at the poster behind her.

"Genji speaks a lot about you." he started, slowly. Hanzo's thoughts collected over that, taking a moment to translate the words in his mind that made enough sense. "When he cannot find what to say to my face, or if we reach a disagreement that threatens to escalate, he falls back to you."

He watched her reaction; dissecting each movement and twitch with as much accuracy as the medical professional in front of him; simply lacking the knowledge of what it meant. The muscle in her neck twitched; her hands inched closer to intertwine, and the smile on her lips seemed to broaden. It was only after his critical observation did he realise he had been staring at her quite intensely.

She didn't seem to mind, as her eyes were directed elsewhere. Angela made a noise of acknowledgement.

"I hope he says nothing but good things." she jokes lightly, before growing far serious. "Though it is not what you may think."

Hanzo knew the direction she hinted at, but he did not think so either. His younger sibling had been quite the playboy in his youth – which had been one of many reasons leading to their fight – but after his cybernetics, his interest in women had dwindled to near nothingness. There were far too many things occupying his mind and soul to concern himself with throw-away romances, now.

So instead, a surprising small grin cracked over the Japanese assassin's serious face. Mercy noted how differently – less stressed – he looked without his brows creasing or his lips pulled into a frown. It didn't suit him much, but it was an effort she could appreciate.

"Do you make it a habit to know what your patients and fellow agents think, doctor?" Hanzo asked. Had it not been for his grin beforehand, she likely would've shrunk under such a comment and acute gaze.

She laughed, and he was quick to take in account the way it sounded like a low melody, not unlike her humming he had heard from behind the door. It was fleeting, like a moment he wanted to grab that was just out of his reach, and before he knew it, she had stopped and was speaking.

"Guilty, Shimada. There hasn't been one that has accepted my psych evaluation yet. One of these days, though."

They shared a small smirk together, before the bowman cast his mind back to the topic at hand. His original plan for the meeting had took a different turn, and he doubted he could breach such a subject now when they were far down the other path. For now, he kept his brother in mind, cleared his throat and spoke once more.

"I am unsure if my brother has said anything to you yet, Doctor -"

"Please, just call me Angela. I'm out of hours, after all."

" – Angela." he corrected, testing the way her name rolled off of his tongue. It didn't flow quite like a Japanese name would, but it would do. "But I must thank you for saving his life. I have.. long lived with the guilt of his death on my heart, and though I have not yet fully overcome what I have done, in a way, your mercy has saved us _both_."

A silence settled between the both of them as Angela turned over his words in her mind. There were many things she could say; how Genji had cursed and damned her intervention before he had come to terms with his new body; the burden she felt shouldering the Shimada's dispute with nothing to offer the troubled younger one but empathy he refused to feel.

As it seemed it took quite the effort for Hanzo to disclose his gratitude, judging by how uncomfortable he felt from it's delivery, she decided to confess, to show him that it was fine to allow his emotions through once in a while.

"For the longest time I wondered if what I had done was the right thing." she mused. "Your words have put some concerns of mine to rest. I should be thanking you."

He shook his head. "I know the weight of a person's life being in one's hands, Angela. You need not thank me for simply understanding."

Another moment passed, before the bowman pushed away from the chairs and bowed lowly.

"I will retire. It has been a refreshing chat, doctor."

"I would say any-time, but I don't want to encourage more late night visits." she grinned. "It has been a pleasure, Hanzo. Goodnight."

" _Oyasumi."_


	17. Reintroduce

**Title** : Reintroduce

 **Characters** : Soldier: 76, Ana Amari, Pharah, (Jesse McCree)

 **Note** : _Ok, I had to write this as Ana has just been announced. I know I need to get onto the requests, but technically this was also requested? I promise I'll get to some afterwards. In addition, I have my final end of module exam next week, so I'm buckling down to study on that. I probably won't be replying to any PMs or reviews, but still feel free to send them. If I take longer than expected I'll send a small note and try to get back to you. I hope you enjoy the chapter and I hope to get to regular updating again soon! - Guixi_

* * *

It wasn't too surprising for anyone within the force that it was Soldier: 76 whom had predicted this.

After all, the Egyptian sharpshooter served as his second-in-command, though often he found himself subservient to her worldly wisdom. He had joked, at the time, how secretly she had been running the operations and he was just the pretty-boy figure head – they shared a laugh, a drink, and he remembered all too fondly of the way her mouth creased into a cat-like grin and kohl-lined eyes twinkled like mischievous stars.

Truthfully he could not say he held the most remorse, regret, anger and other tempestuous emotions when he and the organization learned about her supposed death in that fateful hostage crisis. It impacted them all, no doubt – He had never seen Winston so beside himself, or even Mercy pushed to the brink of tears. Jack himself, had decimated the firing rage to vent out his frustrations, and was appalled to see his hands shake.

But all of that was _nothing_ compared to how Fareeha's world was shattered. It wasn't too long after Ana's death that Overwatch originally disbanded following the increasing public outcry and prejudice, ending her dream of ever ascending to the same heights her mother reached, and never being able to share that dream with her.

Yet Soldier held onto some strange, far-fetched hope. They never recovered a body, only a spattering of blood and her rifle. His prediction was thus: If Ana was alive, she would show herself when she was ready. He knew there were thoughts that ran deep with her, times he caught her post mission staring off into nothing – spacing out often as if internal debate.

A strong feeling of guilt often flooded his stomach when he remembered the promise he made to her one night: he would look out for Fareeha if anything happened to her. The young Egyptian never truly had a paternal figure to associate with, and although he hated playing that role as it made it harder for one if anything happened to him, he didn't even _try_ to be there for the Amari. He was too caught up in his own vigilantism and the rift between Gabriel to _notice._

Time had passed and thoughts of Ana drifted into merely sorrowful memory. A military funeral was held for her, and that was the last time he saw Fareeha until she turned up some ten years later when the Recall happened. Winston had mentioned something about a Talon raid at a site her security detail was guarding, which incidentally refuelled her desire to become an Overwatch agent. The death of her mother, and the organization's disbandment had put her off initially.

* * *

Pharah served Overwatch well, though she did not mingle well with the veteran members, as if she held some grudge, that somehow, they were responsible. He could not fault her for thinking as such: during the time of that hostage crisis, it was on the verge of collapse anyway, and the constant state of infighting did little for the image.

Mercy (bless her heart) had tried to bond with the wayward daughter, though the security chief's ire only grew for the doctor, especially after learning of Genji's existence. He recalled one heated discussion in the hallway, once;

"You save this man's life. An enemy of the state. A _**terrorist**_. No better than the Talon scum we fight." the Egyptian gritted out, heavy voice thick with contempt. Jack wisely chose to remain back in the office, overhearing the muffled voices out in the hall.

"But you could not save my mother."

"I – We – Fareeha, please, try to understand. We searched her bird's nest top to bottom and could find no traces of her aside from her weapon. You know I would have worked day and night to give her life if we –" Angela's tone was bordering on pleading.

"Did you even try to look for her? How does a registered Overwatch agent disappear off of the face of the earth?"

"Of course we tried!"

"You didn't try hard enough."

There was silence, followed by the sound of footfalls fading into the distance, and a heaving sigh of the medic. He waited until she had continued down the hall before exiting the office, staring distantly at the back of Pharah's suit.

* * *

All wounds heal and scars fade with time, and she loosened up around the original strike team, knowing that her own personal vendettas would not do well to serve them in the missions. She always seemed guarded, formal and never opening up to anyone. He knew that persona all too well. Some would take it as her being tough, and strong, but it was merely a façade to protect herself from getting hurt again.

He almost chuckled. She was like him, in that regard. Perhaps if he had been the fatherly pillar of support many see him as, it might have made a difference. No-one should have to suffer loss alone, after all.

Imagine his surprise, one unremarkable middle-of-the-week day, as he sat in his office, signing off on some political documents in the middle of the night, with a bunny-themed tablet courtesy of Hana Song sitting in his lap with a game of Hearthstone open (admittedly, the game was addictive, and he was getting pretty good) when there was a knock on the door.

Jack looked up, sighing and resigning to concede the match and ran a hand through his grey hair that seemed to get whiter with each passing mission, and mumbled out a tired;

"It's open."

Hana was going to murder him, because the moment the door opened and revealed whom had knocked, he had shot up from his desk, the tablet fell off of his lap with a resounding crack and flickering off, followed by a string of curses that tumbled out of his lips, much to the amusement of the one who caused it. He slammed the now broken tablet onto his desk, before returning to stare stunned as she sauntered in.

"Jack, dearest, take a picture. It'll last longer." Her voice had aged much like she, evident by the wrinkles adorning her face and the grey streaks in her once flawless curtain of chocolate brown hair. However no matter how old Ana Amari got, some things simply never change. His eyes trailed to the cans of lager dangling from her finger by the ring pull.

His voice failed him completely, as too many questions flooded his mind and he wondered if the late nights were taking a toll on him. Her laughter struck him like bells ringing as dizziness washed over the soldier, even recoiling back as she sat up on his desk, popped open the can and slid it to him, sipping her own.

Jack slowly took a hold of the can, and the coldness that filled the palm of his hand certified that he was not asleep.

"How.."

Ana tilted her head, tapping the rim of the can on her teeth, truly pondering his simpleton, one-word question that he managed to breathe out after the shock after the waterfalls of emotion continued to wash over him at simply seeing her after so, so many years. She then regarded him with a critical look.

"It's official, you've gone completely crazy without my guidance as second-in-command if you have to ask _that_ question. Over ten years and more I worked – no, I _lived and breathed_ Overwatch and you ask me how I got here undetected?"

"No," he corrected, white brows burrowing deep as his free hand shook whilst trying to gather what little wits he had left. Thankfully, being a commander and being able to adapt to any situation gave him an edge over anyone else handling this revelation. "How are you _alive._ "

The sharpshooter sobered up, previous mirth and light jest evaporating as she fell silent, swirling the contents of her drink around in the can. The soft sloshing sounds of the liquid was the only noise that cut through the air before her voice broke the silence again.

"That Talon sniper only shot out my eye, nothing vital." she murmured bitterly. "And I-"

"Jesus Christ, Ana!" he interrupted startling her with how gruff his voice grated as he yelled. "We all thought you were dead! You didn't give us any indication at all – and don't you _bloody_ dare mention the fact there was no body and that was _your sign_ , I know you, Amari, that's not enough for the shit that we got put through."

She watched as his temper fumed, borne out of concern, worry and past grief. Jack's hand curled into fists, crushing his can of beer and ignoring the alcohol splashing over his desk and to the floor. He did the one thing he could, and paced, now refusing to look at her as all the past was recalled back into his mind.

"The infighting grew even worse, we lost contact with your daughter, Talon was growing even stronger and," his voice cracked imperceptibly, but one does not become a sniper without picking up on tiny details. "I was lost without you."

Quickly, he added; "We all were."

A smothering, uncomfortable quiet settled over the two as his rant ended, leading Jack to autonomously begin to clean up the mess he made, whilst Ana mulled on his words, slipping off his desk and leaning on one of the chairs. Before he could choke on the insufferable silence, he spoke once more.

"Does.. Fareeha know?"

"You're the only one, at the moment." she informed, then continued. "I'm sorry, Jack. I needed some time to myself to think over my life. I had spent, every single waking moment of my years into Overwatch, in the fight, or over tactical protocol, or even handling the politics."

He breathed a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging as he approached Ana, gaze downcast as his arms came to fold, almost as if to prop himself up.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to." Jack said.

"I know." she grimly admitted. "Fareeha has turned out to be everything I could hope for and more. I hope she understands that I still love her, no matter what."

"I'm sure she will, after time. Pharah wasn't a kid then when it happened and she sure is no kid _now."_ he finally tilted his head up to gaze softly at his once second-in-command, the tone of his voice seeming to become haggard and weighty. "Let's cut the sentimental bullshit now, Ana, I'm no good with it. What _are_ you doing here?"

Despite the situation she could not help but muster up the tiniest of smiles at her former commander's direct path. It helped ease the tensions of years that weighed on their shoulders.

"You know me, Jack. I can't sit by idly any longer when there are terrorists like Talon still existing and threatening my people, my country, my family and my allies." her smile turned to twist into a snarl, surprising the Soldier. "I wish to return to active duty."

"This is going to be one hell of a morning."

* * *

Once more, his prediction came true.

It was _hell._

After the formal introduction of the sharpshooter returning back into the fold, everything seemed to go downhill from there. Veteran agents swarmed her with varying, mixed emotions, ranging from pure joy, to nostalgic grief and high-running tempers. Everyone seemed to hold their own personal response to her rejoining, even the personnel staff that was overhauled from the original organization were a flurry of gossip.

The newer members were in awe, as all they had were legends to reference when they heard the name Ana Amari, and to see the woman in the flesh, even if she was pushing sixty at this point, was inspiring, though it was hard to get her attention and time when it was captured by everyone else.

Perhaps the most memorable moment was Jesse McCree enveloping the poor woman in an embrace that lasted two seconds before she went on a tirade about his metallic arm, aghast that the old Blackwatch member had let himself get in a situation that cost him a limb, followed by a very public boxing-by-the-ears after he made a snide comment and being dragged by said ear down the hallway.

"At this rate I'm gonna lose my ear, sweetheart! Let go!" he complained, which went mostly ignored by the Egyptian woman.

They did finally come to a halt as another agent of Overwatch blocked their path. Ana grimaced lightly as she stared at the impassive face of her daughter, standing rigidly in the way, brown eyes boring into hers. She let go of Jesse's ear, to which he huffed, fixed his hat and hair, and equally shared an awkward look at the sight of Pharah.

"You go on now, kiddo. Save me a beer." Ana said lightly, patting the American on the back to urge him ahead.

"Play nice now, kittens." he drawled, tipping his hat in respect for the younger woman before waving off, giving the two as much privacy as the middle of the hall could allow. They both waited before he was fully gone before one broke first.

"Don't let me keep you, ma'am." the daughter said stiffly. "I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do with your old allies."

"They can wait." Ana dismissed, approaching her daughter and resting her hands on the blue armour of the suit. Although she could not feel anything, she could have sworn she felt her child turn rigid under her touch, which further stabbed her in the heart. Like the one standing before her, it did not show on her face, remaining a perfect standard of collected.

"Fareeha, my daughter.. you have grown so much over these years. I am so proud of you."

Hearing the cadence of her mother's voice, coupled with the fact her touch was real and she truly was alive, all the anger that was bottled up subsided for a moment as the overwhelming joy and sadness took precedence. Pharah launched herself into her arms, burying her head against her shoulder as she tightly hugged her. Ana returned the gesture.

"I am still so mad with you," she managed to mumble, muffled by the cloth of her shirt. "and I have not forgiven you. But I... I am so happy you're alive, mother."

Fareeha pulled away first, untangling from her arms. Ana tried to draw her back in, but she resisted and regained her previous formal composure. The sharpshooter knew that this was merely a stepping stone, and two had a long journey ahead to bridge the broken road between the two. She offered a lopsided smile.

"Why don't you join the kid and I for a drink? My boy Jesse couldn't tell a good story even if it happened to him, and I hear you're quite the agent, here."

Pharah looked as though she considered it, but ultimately shied away. She gave a quick salute.

"I will have to decline, ma'am. I am on active duty and will be deployed for a mission soon."

"But you don't -"

"Good day."

Ana watched begrudgingly as she left, knowing she couldn't stop her. Well, at least they were speaking, which was more than what she could say after having to handle her flat stares post introduction.

Stepping stones..


	18. Re-examine

**Title** : Re-examine

 **Characters** : Mercy, Roadhog.

 **Note** : _This idea was requested by Skipper311, so all kudos goes to them, I simply just wrote using it. I'll also just briefly mention that I haven't rejected Pharmercy - people get into small tiffs and arguments all the time. Pharah cooled her jets (ah hah pun) much later after initially joining. It was just bad timing._

 _I enjoy a lot of characters with Mercy, she has quite the dynamic with.. just about everyone. I think I prefer to highlight (in shipping) rather unique relationships. I'll be over here, swinging my Tracer/Reaper flag quietly. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! - Guixi_

* * *

If there was one avenue of data that Mercy pursued in documentation, it was the unusual habits her fellow comrades held.

Her notes were _purely_ for medical research, of course, but after a while her observations ended up scribbled hastily into file margins in the dreaded red-ink of reminder, as she always pulled up the agent's data before performing any sort of surgery or procedure, be it major or otherwise. After all, some may hold allergies, some struggle with accepting the nanaobiology tech and other's mentality played a huge factor in recovery time.

The Swedish doctor believed that if she did not gain her doctorate in medical science she perhaps would have strove to become a psychiatrist. Nothing fascinated her more than how the human mind worked, the intricacies and enigmas it held, the ever personal language of the body and how emotions effected it, and so forth. This interest played into her methodical noting of her companion's habits, as she sought to understand why they did that.

McCree was an easy example. That man could chain smoke cigars like it was nobody's business, much to her chagrin on his health. Yet he did not smoke as heavily – if at all – during his time as a Blackwatch member, whereas now he is never seen without chomping on one of the cancer sticks. She had the advantage of being acquainted with the ex-bounty hunter, and knew him well enough that the more stressed (or heaven forbid; nervous) he was, the harder he smoked and the more she caught him trying to hide coughing fits post mission.

Her slim digits filtered through his dossier as her mind was on him, re-reading her old notes about a semi-recent failure of trying to induct him into a program to get him to quit the deadly habit. Bless his heart, he attended and lasted an hour before sneaking off to feed into his addiction.

Others held similar problems. The majority of the agents, she was appalled to say, especially given as she herself fell into that category, were drinkers of varying degrees. Alcohol was something she tolerated as in moderation (much like with everything that could become a habit) was harmless. Angela grimaced, as she knew both of her closest friends enjoyed their booze a little too much, and it surprised even her that their health was near flawless. Medical technology and advances in that field had made leaps and bounds and continued to do so, but even still.

Then.. then there was _Roadhog._

Slipping into her office chair, she sifted through the files until she came upon the aforementioned agent, ocean-blue eyes skimming the document and tutting in disappointment at how bare it looked compared to the others. True, he was a rather recent addition to their growing organization, but that did not excuse the lack of due diligence. The doctor reached for her infamous red pen, pulling the lid off with her teeth and following the text with the hovering point.

Roadhog was the greatest example of worst case scenario. Between the few moments of being able to observe the behemoth of a man in action, she had seen him indulge in alcohol, smoking, a variety of other vices and the cherry on the cake: that damnable canister of his. She hadn't been able to get a good enough look at it or even catch the aroma to diagnose what kind of chemical he was inhaling, but based on the effects, she was worried at what it _could_ be and _how_ did he acquire such fumes.

Mercy tapped the butt of the pen on a half filled form, lips creasing in displeasure. A part of her wanted to intervene and take matters into her own hands, but the harsh reality was that unless she had more proof that it was seriously harming him, then she could not force or do anything against his wishes.

Perhaps it was a simple case of her analysing too deeply into it. After all, there were some inhalants that were benign and did help with ailments. Olbas oil, a common over-the-counter medicine can be in the form of an inhaler, yet she doubted it was _that._

At the very least, she could authorize a mandatory check-up and simply bring these issues to him. In the end, Angela couldn't stop agent's bad habits, merely remind them of the facts and hope that they take things in moderation. She wasn't their mother and held no authority over them unless it was life-threatening right at that moment.

With that in mind, she rose to issue the order.

* * *

There was one thing to concern herself with as she pulled back her straw-blonde hair into a neater ponytail, before moving to fiddle with the buttons of her coat. When she had witnessed Roadhog in battle, the few instances he did speak were callously disregarding human life, or worryingly enough chuckling at a particularly violent and bloody death. Unless she managed to get a proper evaluation of his mental health, she would remain silent, but it was no secret he was a cruel man, possibly bordering on sociopathic.

Thus, she was understandably a little on edge about meeting the man alone in her office. He certainly was not the first dangerous man she had to evaluate or treat, true, but that did not make her any less ridden with anxiety when she had to treat another. Her gaze dragged up to view out of the window, which could be tinted to offer privacy during sessions, and watched the medical staff under her wing mull about. She tried to remind herself that she was not alone here.

Angela's face twisted into a grimace as Roadhog barrelled into the clinic, startling her younger staff into scattering to the safety of their own offices as he marched purposefully towards hers. She moved behind her desk, retrieving her clipboard just in time for him to burst through the door, which swung back and hit the wall. She stiffened, feeling as though the self-proclaimed one man apocalypse was staring down at her, and he was not impressed.

"Ah, Mako, I did not expect you would be so early."

He grunted.

"Please, take a seat. I promise this won't take long."

She watched, helplessly as he stalked closer to the desk, pulling out one of the leather-bound chairs that was a few sizes too small to hold his bulk, but still managed to sit on it, much to the chair's groaning protest. His hands, she was safe to say, rested on his tattooed belly, but more importantly: in her view, and no to any potential weapons. Even if one of his huge, beefy hands had a brass knuckle duster.

The doctor glanced at her clipboard, which contained his dossier and her notes, as well as a few general statements pre-written to help guide her breach the topic without fear of upsetting the man, if that was possible, and causing him to do something he would end up regretting. She offered a disingenuous smile, born out of her anxiety.

"I'd like to say you're not in any trouble, Roadhog. Every agent has to undergo a mandatory check up. Some of the more wily ones will try to avoid doctors otherwise." Her small jest fell flat as he remained unresponsive, only the sound of heavy breathing filtered by his mask escaped him.

She cleared her throat, awkwardly. "H-However, I have enough probable cause to inquire about a particular.. habit of yours, and how it may effect your health in the long run. Your canister. I need to check off all kinds of medical equipment and chemical usage to prevent abuse, and if it has negative side-effects in the long run, you should know about them."

Roadhog slowly leant forward from the chair in what would be a proper sitting position if he was not reclining back on his weight, head tilted very slightly to give her the impression he was looking down on her, and a sharp intake of breath to speak resulted in a habitual, pig-like snort. It took a marginal amount of her professionalism to resist stepping back.

"You going to confiscate it?" he grumbled, and she took a moment to piece his words together. His mask did well to muffle his voice but it also carried it's own low, bass like quality that made him rumble more than he spoke. It was hard to follow.

Angela hesitated to answer, but strongly continued anyway. "That entirely depends on the results of my diagnosis."

He fell into some kind of coughing fit until she realised that he was laughing, belly jiggling and to her relief, leant back into the chair, calming down shortly. She could have sworn his tone now carried an amused edge to it, but she did not know him well enough to make an accurate guess.

"I'd like to see you try." he said. "I could snap your neck like a twig."

The doctor composed herself, bringing her gaze up to directly stare the man down, as much as she could with his mask on, and remained unflinching at his comment. It was likely just made to make her feel uncomfortable, or the one that didn't have control. At least she hoped it was that and not a genuine threat.

"My patients are usually more creative, you will have to do better than that." she brusquely quipped, continuing on seamlessly. "If you do not surrender the canister willingly, then I will gather enough probable cause to seize it. And, unfortunately, as much as you would like to see me try, it would not be me who would. Reinhardt is a treasure dealing with unruly ones."

She hated resorting to Reinhardt's influence and strength as her own threat. Not only did it make her seem rather dependable on his helping hand, but she simply felt awful using him like that in the first place.

Even Mako seemed to point it out. "I'm not afraid of your boyfriend."

Mercy slowly raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was going to be one of _those_ check-ups – long, and filled with obstacles at every point. She couldn't determine if what Roadhog said was just to get her to react (likely) or if he genuinely meant every word, which would be grim and she really should be calling in the personnel staff.

But she held steadfast, shooting him with a look. "Reinhardt is nothing more than a close friend. There is nothing romantic or sexual about our relationship."

"So you're available?"

"I – This has _nothing_ to do with your check up!"

"You brought it up."

It was downright impressive how a man of few words could drive her to utter frustration, despite her saintly patience. It only then occurred to her that this conversation was likely the longest Mako held with anyone, not including his interactions with Junkrat. Perhaps in a different setting she would have been honoured to be the first to accomplish such a feat, but for now it was infuriating.

"I commend your ability to evade my examination, Mako." she grounded out. "But you are certainly not the first difficult patient I've ever had -"

"We should get burgers together."

" – and I refuse to have you make a _mockery_ of this!" Her cheeks were flushed pretty pink with her rising temper, truly an unheard of thing. The huge man seemed content in his laid back position, drumming his thick fingers against his rounded belly during her little tirade. It was impossible to tell what his intentions were, or what he was thinking, even for a master of body language like Mercy.

Finally, some kind of seriousness returned to the enforcer after a brief pause. "Why do you care."

It wasn't phrased like a question, it seemed like some kind of statement that he had no idea why she had called him here and asked what she had. Angela calmed down somewhat, running her hand through her blonde hair which had likely sprung free from it's prison of a hair band and caressed her face. Taking a calming breath, at least this was a question she was adequately prepared for.

"I care, because you are an agent of Overwatch. I care, because I am a doctor and it is my duty to do so. What I don't care, is your criminal past or your previous employment, or even if you became an enemy to us. I can't stand to see someone – anyone suffer." her tone had taken a quieter tenor than the raised pitch of her shouting.

"I know you might see what I do or even this very check-up as a nuisance or overbearing, but even the tiniest thing can fester into a greater problem. I don't like being the one seen as restrictive but I _need_ to be."

Roadhog mulled over her words. It surprised Mercy how in-depth she had gotten into, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and averting her gaze to avoid his masked visage. She heard that he stood up, as the chair creaked and the legs squealed drawing back on the floor, before a heavy thud sounded on her desk. She blinked, staring at the canister and back up to the tattooed man.

"Don't get attached." That was all he said, before he left her to her thoughts. At first she assumed he meant handling the fumes with care, but after all she had said..

Mercy believed that Roadhog offered her grim, but insightful advice.


	19. Relearn

**Title** : Relearn

 **Characters** : Genji, Zenyatta

 _ **Note:** This idea was requested by the Prime Writer. I have had plans to expand upon the connect series of drabbles relating to Genji's progress from self-loathing to inner peace, but chatting with them was what kickstarted me. It's a small drabble (undergoing those finals I was talking about) than my usual fare, so I hope that's okay. - Guixi._

* * *

In time, he had returned.

And like Zenyatta had said, the doors of the monastery remained open, like arms outstretched, longingly and lovingly welcoming anyone into their bosom.

It had been some time since his tenuous employment within Overwatch, which had become murky at best after he had aided into bringing down his clan – his _family's_ – empire. There were many questions that remained in the air, both he himself mused and the leaders of the peacekeeping force asked; would he stay? Would he wander like a lost soul, desperate to find purpose?

They had already once offered him position and he turned them down. His feet had took him to this very spot months before where he had left, in fear of himself and the answers he may discover. Yet the roads untravelled had taught him nothing more than how perilous it was to wander unguided. He was lost, spiritually asunder with his mind shackled by artificial stimulation and his body imprisoned in it's technological cage with no escape.

He forced himself to sigh even if there was no reason to simulate such a thing. Genji's hands, which had remained splayed across his thighs curled into tight fists, head bowed as he recalled the simple task the monk had instructed him to do: clear his mind and to focus on something other than his suit's workings.

Yet no matter what he did or thought, it was always jarred by something his cybernetics did. He had grown so aggravated over the fact that he could not do such a simple task that he crushed the incense bowl in front of him that was causing his suit to feed him useless, junk information on it, right down to the plant.

Unsurprisingly, he heard the Omnic arrive far before he began to speak; his tone always remained a pleasant calm tenor that seemed to carry wisdom of centuries, even if his creation date said otherwise.

"I do not believe you will find enlightenment within a cracked bowl, my student."

If there was one thing Genji appreciated, it was his dry sense of humour, and his method of teaching. Zenyatta often left him to his thoughts, sharing his guidance but never smothering him, believing that the ninja required to find his own way of life. His guidance was more of a suggestion – a foundation to be built upon, like clay moulded into whatever he wanted it to be for him.

"I apologize, master." said Genji. "I will try harder."

Had the Omnic monk possessed eyebrows, they likely would have rose and receded into his non-existent hair line. Metallic digits slowly steeped against one another, his ring fingers entwining and clasping. He mulled over his student's words, digitized voice stuttering to represent soft laughter.

"Your task isn't a competition, or a game." he gently informed. "Perhaps you are trying to hard, instead of simply doing."

"Another one of your metaphysical ideas, based upon your enlightenment, I take it?"

"Star Wars, actually."

The younger lord of the Shimada clan's formidable will faltered at that, a moment that flew by so quickly he was left truly stumped, staring at the monk who was none the wiser to how his words held a tremendous, if unintentional impact. To make matters worse, it was one of the few moments that he did not think of his dual existence, merely reflecting on the surreal comment. Had his idyllic home village of Hanamura contained none of the arcades and cheesy theatres he adored, the monk's reference may have flown over his head.

He surprised himself when he cracked a weak chuckle, all frustration seemingly drained, the energy turning into something more productive as he began to collect the broken shards of the bowl. Genji thought on that instead; how he wrangled such a destructive emotion like anger into submission long enough to turn it into something else.

Zenyatta observed his pupil, watching the imperceptible way his motions relaxed. It was impossible to scrutinize his body language when it was hidden away by technology, but being an Omnic himself, he was well-verse in the subtleties of machine. His actions were not so force, as if repulsed, rather they flowed in union. The monk beamed, deciding now to drop a small little hint, and let the ninja dissect it any way he wished.

"You must remember that light casts a shadow, but that shadows reminds one that it has light overhead." he states. "One cannot be without the other."

"Yes, Master."

Genji's tone held the smallest grain of amusement hidden between the lines. He did not reflect on his master's words, but rather how quick he was to dismiss the monk's ramblings of light and darkness, or harmony and discord. He had been so caught up in his own arrogance and self-loathing that he refused to see anything other than what he wanted. He recoiled at the notion that anyone understood his pain.

There were moments in particularly fruitless attempts to search deep within himself did he curse the Omnic, his hospitality, teachings and way of life. He had no idea if he would ever be able to soothe his soul, yet he had to remind himself constantly that it would not be a fast journey. The months spent trying to find himself alone were agonizing and worst of all, pointless.

Genji looked at the gathered pieces of the ceramic in his hand and hummed. Perhaps not entirely pointless, he corrected himself. His journey got him to the monastery.

".. I believe you were quick to judge the broken bowl, Zenyatta."

It came out quietly, hastily, but it was just loud enough for the Shambali monk to catch. He did not express his surprise, only conveyed intrigue by the tapping of his steeped index fingers. It was rare – nay, unheard of – for his pupil to engage into sharing his thoughts, especially interpretations. He often sheltered away in his room, staring at nothing in the middle of the room.

"Oh?"

There was uncharacteristic hesitance, but Zenyatta could understand why. It was not like he was inexperienced in sharing philosophical ideals, but he never truly shared them with anyone else. It was safe to say he was awkward, a strikingly similar trait his brother also had. Genji turned to face him, laying the pieces of the bowl back down, though more spread out to emphasise the point.

"A bowl does not cease to become what it is even if it is cracked, shattered or broken." he started.

"Is that so?"

Genji rose up, dusting his hands free of the pottery dust, seemingly content in that very moment with the world, even if it would only last as such, and replied.

"I am Genji Shimada. I did not cease to be him after my body died and I became.. this."

Zenyatta beamed proudly at his pupil. He still sensed much within him still in turmoil, but it was merely the first step in a long climb. He knew the young soul would likely return back to his darkened brooding after some time, or perhaps he would be reminded of his own discovery and seek sanctuary within that.

"Revel in that, my pupil. What you have said now has taken decades for others. Even if you have yet to fully comprehend it's meaning."

"I understand."


	20. Reminisce

**Title** : Reminisce

 **Characters** : Tracer, McCree, (Reaper)

 _ **Note** : Another suggestion by the Prime Writer. All kudos to them. - Guixi  
_

* * *

Mercy had called it ' _post-mission blues_ ', whereas Tracer decided that the excuse of needing a drink that would go unquestioned was a better way of describing it.

The tender of the bar did not even look up from the glass he was cleaning when the sparky woman slid into the stool at the front, threw down her pilot's goggles and ran a gloved hand through a mass of wild, uncontrolled brown hair. The sound of her arms and head slumping against the table was enough of an indicator for the man to pour the agent her favourite and leave her be.

At one stage, Tracer was considered one of the greatest assets to Overwatch after the incident, and she prided herself in her ability to handle any situation, especially chaotic ones. Those were her favourite, as the unpredictable nature played off well with her style. Unfortunately, the scouting mission months back and her encounter with Reaper proved it difficult for her to get the drop on Talon as she usually did.

Now they seemed crazily prepared, even wary to her usual tricks, which made her job hellish. It infuriated her how quickly they picked up her method, how they blocked small avenues for her to break through and pick off assailants one by one, reducing her to a running target with no way of assaulting. It was almost as if..

It was almost as if they _knew_ her.

She blithely glanced at her bubbly drink by the side, dragging herself up in a sorry excuse for a sitting position to sip the beverage. The buzzy warmth that it provided did little to quell the sickness in her stomach over how awful that mission turned out. It seemed the walking Halloween reject knew exactly which ones she was deployed on and made it his life goal to be an obstacle for her.

"What a creep," she huffed into her drink only to then squeal loudly when she felt a warm hand ghost to the small of her back.

"I hope you're not talkin' about me, sweetheart." the owner of the hand mused. "Or to yourself, 'cause then I'd have to send you to Mercy."

"Christ, Jesse!" Lena spat out, turning around to smack the grinning cowboy half-heartedly. " _Grope_ me, why don't you?!"

" _Well._ "

"That's not an offer!"

Despite her best attempt at an annoyed scowl, the tanned man erupted into laughter that was laced with a wheezing cough, accented by the hugest grin that even the British woman had to admit was charming, albeit goofy. He joined her at the bar, moving his hand back up to the more appropriate position of over the shoulders, drawing the smaller woman into a brief hug. That, she returned.

"You were breakin' my heart with that frown o' yours. Had to snap you out of it somehow. Glad to see that the real Tracer has rejoined us, in all her smilin' glory." he reasoned as thick, bushy brows raised into the mess of his own locks and softening the usual rugged look to his face.

She really wanted to stay mad at him (or, anyone, really) but one look melted her and she tossed her head back into a sigh, rolling to lean partly on his shoulder. McCree kindly shuffled closer to allow the woman to use him as a makeshift leaning post, unaffected by the seemingly intimate behaviour. They had known each other since the original Overwatch, and both of them were merely physical people, expressing themselves better through touch than words.

"I'll stop moping when Talon stops sending the Grim Reaper wannabe for all of my missions." she muttered. "I don't get it. They're seeing me as this priority target – I know I messed with their little Spider Queen a bit, but _come on_."

Lena knew something was wrong when she felt the muscles of his shoulder tense up, and McCree's attitude sobered up almost immediately at the mention of Reaper, albeit in an unconventional way. He leaned over (temporarily dwarfing her, much to her grumbling protest) to grab her drink, plucking it for himself and sipping it swiftly. It was an adequate replacement for the cigar he would likely be puffing.

Honey-coloured eyes watched the darker skinned man fall silent, and slowly she lifted herself away from him to face him properly, elbow resting on the table and her chin delicately laying in the palm of her hand as she studied his face, grimacing that she soured the mood with her own downer moment.

"That's not surprising. You are pretty good at your job." he said finally, though the answer seemed hollow – unfulfilled with what he truly wanted to say.

Tracer's lips drew into a pursed line.

"Did you just become fifty years older and channel Soldier seventy-six for that answer? Because that was scarily convincing."

His eyes squinted into a mild cringe, understanding her point and ducking his head in bashful shame, before lightly setting her glass back down. He tried to ignore her obvious scrutinizing stare, instead hailing the bartender for his own glass of hard whiskey to guzzle down on. McCree swirled the coppery liquid in it's shot glass, which seemed to be enough for Lena to snap.

"You're about as subtle as a train wreck, Jesse. What are you hiding?"

"I aint hiding anythin'" he huffed, covering the lower half of his face behind the drink and failing. He risked taking another look at her, and their gazes connected long enough for him to apologetically rub the back of his neck with his metallic hand and murmur;

"It's more of a theory, really. I don't want t'scare anyone senseless yet, but some of the stunts our friends at Talon pull is pretty damn similar to Blackwatch stuff. It's like seein' a ghost fightin' them."

Tracer, satisfied she got her answer, leaned back and away from the grizzled older man and reflected on his words. She knew McCree was not the type to guess, so for him to speculate on Talon's operation's in such a way, he was either very convinced or, worse – correct. Her mind was drawn to the once sister organization in question, surprising the old westerner when her lips curved in a small, nostalgic smile.

It worried him, _slightly._

"I remember Blackwatch." she stated lightly, drawing him out of his theories. "They always reminded me of MI5."

"Do I even wanna know?"

"British stuff." She shook her head, then pulled the topic back into relevance, tucking a piece of fallen hair back into it's nest. "You know, Gabriel offered me a chance to join you guys."

McCree nodded airily, raising a hand to scratch at his beard and trying not to dwell on all of the thoughts and memories a single name could bring about. His old commander was quite the figure in his life, more than he would like to admit, especially playing a sort of mentor like role after his gang was abolished. To think, at one point, he was a lowlife thug.

 _You still are, McCree_ , he reminded himself quietly, with a small grunt of acknowledgement. No amount of dispensing justice would magically atone his past. His own dark brown eyes watched the thinner, smaller woman reminisce on something or another, and couldn't believe how inwardly thankful he was for the organization.

"What was he like? As.. a commander, I mean."

He directed his gaze skywards. Truthfully, he hated chats like this, as his heart was so easily seen on his sleeve, and had a hard time keeping his emotions in, much like Lena herself. He would've thought a life of crime drilled that out of him, but without a cigar to chomp on, it was extraordinarily difficult to mask his feelings.

"The best," he muttered. "Better than Jack. That's probably bias, though. Gabriel didn't need to command respect, he rightfully earned it, and he sure as hell would kick your ass over just about anything. He truly meant whatever he said to you that lead him to offer that position. It aint something handed out like a freebie."

"It sounds like you're in love. And _jealous_."

His grin returned, and he shoved the equally smirking woman, grateful that they could return to some semblance of jesting and joking even if she previously had been moping. That's what he liked about Tracer – her ability to muster up a smile, even in perilous situations.

"Sure, he was hogging all your attention! You wouldn't believe the crush I had on you, and nothing is worse than a commander that knows it. I swear he purposefully flirted with you only when I was in earshot."

She laughed, a bright and bubbly sound that chased away all of her negativity. They both knew that wasn't what she meant, but she was glad he took it to a silly extreme, even if she didn't know how much of it was true and how much of it was him simply spinning a tale. This was how all of their conversations went: the topics tended to jump around a lot, given their need to add in sarcastic little quips.

"I think Gabriel was more flirting about _Jack_ , given all he ever did was complain to me about him, while simultaneously trying to abduct me into the Blackwatch programme." she responded in turn, both hers and McCree's smiles as wide as could be. " – and you did _not_ have a crush on me."

"Think what you want, darlin'" he chuckled. "But that's what I don't understand. Why didn't you join us?"

Lena's mirth subsided, her gaze averting as she mulled over his question. There were many reasons why she didn't, ranging from the public scrutiny the organization fell under to the very personal inner thoughts that lead her not to join. She prided herself in being an open book, and not keeping many secrets, but even she didn't wish to delve into so personally. To the westerner's credit, he was likely to be privy first before anyone else, given their solid friendship that had lasted over the years.

She answered finally when she could feel his eyes search and implore her face, and she offered a lopsided grin up to the tanned man.

"I have my reasons, Jesse. You know better than to ask them."

"Yeah, yeah. You'll tell me when you're ready to tell me. I will say, it would've been mighty fun workin' with you."

Lena beamed, turning slightly so she can slip her arm around his fleshy one to link them, following to pat his biceps reassuringly.

"Consider this," she gestured all around them, indicating the reborn organization. "Making up for lost time."

"I don't." he said with surprising seriousness, mildly shocking the woman. "You're taking me on the next damn scouting mission, darlin', and we can give that Reaper a run for his money. I don't know why Talon is employing Blackwatch techniques, but I sure as hell am not gonna stand for it. _That's_ how you can make up for lost time."

Her brows settled back down to a normal level, recovering and gathering her wits enough to nod strongly. Amidst all the joking and friendly exterior, she knew Jesse was a tough and dangerous man to the wrong person. She just happened to know he could be rather sweet when concerned, in his own way.

"You better start practising running, then." she pointed out. "Because you're going to have to _keep up_."


	21. Relation

**Title:** Relation

 **Characters** : Dva, Reinhardt

 _ **Note:** I think I've mentioned this before, but a review prompted me to clarify that this story isn't entirely canon, as it deals with AU elements (i.e, the fact that everyone is seemingly apart of Overwatch save Reaper and Widowmaker) and some chapters deal with unanswered questions. I'm sorry if I hadn't made that explicit and mislead anyone to believe this was 100% canon compliant. It's more like.. 65%. _

_And it seems notes are just a regular thing now. Oops? - Guixi_

* * *

The young adult's tongue peeked out from her glossy lips as thin brows dipped into concentration, deft fingers untangling the white wires in front of her, before finally and with satisfaction slammed the plug into the socket. There was a deep rumble of a noise in awe, signalling that it all had connected properly. She dusted her hands, and rapped the table's leg beside her.

"Okay, big guy, it's all done!"

She braced herself for what she deemed the fun part as a strong grip captured her legs and yanked her out from under the desk, enjoying the perks of being a lazy genius and giggling heartily at how effortless Reinhardt made it. He knew his strength, and he was always the gentleman, hauling her carefully back to her feet and offering the Korean gamer a wide, warm smile.

"This will play _Hasselhoff_?" he asked, kind eyes gazing at the music deck with the player already in. It seemed so tiny, and self-consciously he glanced at his huge, meaty hands. One finger surely covered three or four of the ludicrously tiny buttons.

"It'll play whatever you've downloaded onto it." she confirmed. "So yes, Hasselhoff."

"Splendid, truly splendid!" he commended, patting her cheerfully on the back. He wouldn't have needed Hana's assistance if it wasn't for Junkrat's explosive first day, which unfortunately had caused collateral damage in the very foundations of the base. It had since been repaired – with fortifications made to prevent such a thing happening, but one of the unfortunate items that had gotten broke in the shake up was his vinyl records.

He had been _furious_ , and no amount of comforting from Angela or drinks of sorrow with Torbjörn had tempered him. The valorous man was quite ready to have a stern chat with the demolition expert, but it had been the Korean teen's intervention that quelled his fury. She couldn't fix his records, but at least she gave him his music.

Reinhardt beamed, shuffling closer to the device and delicately selecting his favourite song with his pinkie finger, sitting back on the bed in anticipation as it started, the sound quality far above what he was used to, which made it all the more enjoyable.

Hana peered at the screen, reading the song title aloud.

" _David Hasselhoff, Looking for Freedom_." she recited. "That sounds.."

She trailed off as her words were drowned out by both the music and the German singing along, and she grinned lightly. The teen was going to quip at how _lame_ it was, especially since she didn't like that particular genre of music, but seeing the older man so delighted, she couldn't bring herself to say it. So, she shrugged, tossed herself on the bed with her head leaning off the back.

To Reinhardt's credit, his singing voice was quite something. It easily dwarfed the actual singer's tone with his rumbling cadence, and his German accent twisted the lyrics into something more booming and powerful. Hana thought he would be better suited for opera, than pop music.

As he still had company, he finished off a verse, hands patting his knees as he turned gleefully to his young friend, voice full of mirth. She tilted her head – finding it strange how the first thing she thought was how pleasant he was when he had quite the grizzled look on him, littered with scars that boys she knew would deem as _'cool'._

"This song takes me back," he wistfully stated. "He performed it at the Berlin Wall, and what a performance that was! He had this jacket with motion lights. I always wanted one of those, but.. they didn't really have my size."

"Thanks for the history and fashion lesson." she teased, leaning up to shove him ineffectually, as it didn't make him budge an inch. "Maybe I'll commission Symmetra to make you a light jacket."

"Hm! Do you think she could do it in other colours than blue and white? I'm a fan of gold, myself!"

As she laughed at his joke, he gave a small chuckle and regarded her quietly. Reinhardt was fond of the young adult, as he was acutely aware she brought out a paternal instinct in him to protect her, beyond more than what he already did for Overwatch. He didn't know why she'd rather spend her time with an old relic like him, but he liked the time they did spend together, like a father and daughter bonding.

Unlike Jack, however, he didn't deny it – no, in fact, he embraced the fatherly (or, perhaps, grandfatherly) figure he represented. There was only one concern however, relating to the teen's ease of viewing the older members in a familial light. It was sweet on the surface, but underlining it could potentially be something neither of them wanted to think about.

"Mäuschen," he started softly, which caused Hana to immediately sober up, and scrutinize the older man for what he was about to say. She didn't like it when the veterans took that tone with her, as it came across far more patronizing than they ever intended. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but no amount of surly looks could ever halt the great knight.

"Do you ever miss your parents? I don't think I've ever heard you talk about them." That was one way to broach the subject.

Hana tutted, arms coming to fold defensively over her chest as she feebly glared at the floor. Reinhardt was not the first to try such a topic with her, as Mercy had been on the same line of thought far before he had come to ponder on it. Her response seemed autonomous as she regurgitated exactly what she told the doctor.

"Nah. I FaceTime them like, every night. Don't worry."

Reinhardt drummed his fingers against his knee, knowing that she was either lying or not telling the full story, but ultimately sighed lightly. He didn't want to force her, especially with the increasingly bad mood that was overtaking her.

The teen herself was quick to change the topic, shuffling closer to the senior man and pointing at his face. "Where did you get that scar? Are you blind in one eye?" she asked bluntly.

"Ah." A sombre, nostalgic smile crawled across his lips as he seemed to gaze elsewhere, pulling memories back to that instance that had cost him an eye, so to speak, gingerly touching his scarred cheek where it had never healed properly, still looking more raw than his peachy, flushed skin colour.

"To get the easy question out of the way, I lack decent depth perception, yes." His scarred eye was milky white; with the iris clouded over like a thin film had been encased, rending him without any kind of decent sight. There were medical procedures available (especially now) to fix it, or better yet, simply replace it with a life-like cybernetic eye, but he naturally turned it all down, and accepted his failure as it should be.

"As for how I got the scar.. let me tell you a short story of a young champion thirty-five years ago, and a little company called _J08_. I will – ah, try to translate as best I can, too."

* * *

That ' _little company_ ,' was in fact a conglomerate, specializing in armour production stationed mainly in German, with some affiliation with the Swedish mechanical researchers of the Ironclad Guild. While the latter developed weaponry and dipped their toes in defence, the former revolved around producing the best kind of protection.

They had been developing a new suit of armour that would be mass produced, though the sheer size, scale and person needed to don the suit caused them to scrap that idea. Therefore, they focused entirely on specialization that only a select, hand-picked few would come to wear it. Naturally, when it came to prototyping, they needed a subject to test it.

Reinhardt Wilhelm, then soldier of the German army, reclined back on the pathetic excuse of a plastic chair as he waited for the engineers to be finished with some details regarding the armour. He was calm, though inwardly he was excited as a kid in a sweet shop – he had never accepted a proposal so quickly as the one for being able to test the new project, dubbed _Kreuzfahrer Rüstung,_ or, _Crusader's Armour._

He tried not to let his happiness show, instead recalling back to his military training and sitting ramrod straight the moment the lead engineer and, oddly enough, a medical professional exited from the room in front. Reinhardt stood, removed his cap and attempted not to overwhelm the personnel with his height and imposing uniform.

"Major Wilhelm, thank you for waiting." the head engineer said, glancing at her clipboard briefly before back up to the man. "We would just like to make you aware of how the armour functions. Doctor?"

"Yes," the male beside her continued on seamlessly. "It uses an advanced form of biofeedback technology. To simplify, it will enhance your strength to super-human level. We do wish to experiment on granting a greater awareness of your surroundings and vision capabilities.."

"Say no more, my good doctor." beamed Reinhardt. "I care not for all this technical talk. Let us get to testing!"

* * *

When he fell silent, Hana tried to prompt him with nudging him by her foot, as she couldn't be bothered dragging herself closer. He made no response, so she tried harder, but was met with the same. Rolling her eyes, she crawled towards him and pulled on his arm.

"Come on, you can't just stop there!" she protested. "You were just getting to the good, gory part."

The elder snapped out of it, sheepishly looking away from the teenager and ran a hand through his greying hair. Recalling the tale, he realised just how dramatic and dark it truly was, and even thinking on it made him grimace. He didn't want to share such an ending with her, his hand once again absent-mindedly caressing his scarred cheek.

Especially because it was not the only wound he suffered. Many of the lacerations that healed (poorly) on his arm, back and chest were attributed to that very story of donning his iconic symbol of virtue. He bowed his head deeply.

"I shouldn't have started the story in the first place. It's not something a young girl like you should concern yourself with."

"Ugh. I'm not a child."

"You are fourty-two years my _junior,_ Hana. You are a child to _me_."

He regretted saying that the moment it left his lips, because she slid off the bed, dainty hands balling into fists and stalked towards his door. Reinhardt made no attempt to stop her, not wishing to further embarrass himself.

He sighed deeply, wincing when the door slammed shut at her exit. Perhaps he should have taken Jack's approach and not encourage her attachment, because witnessing that cut into his heart far deeply than he would like to admit.


	22. Regular

**Title:** Regular

 **Characters:** Mercy, Roadhog.

 _ **Note** : Suggestion by Skipper311. Kudos to them! - Guixi_

* * *

 _Angela.. what are you doing._

The doctor grimaced, ignoring that nattering voice in her mind as she checked herself once over in the mirror, for what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning. And, once more, she found some small fault, in this instance her hair, and corrected it. Everything must be meticulous and perfect, even if the occasion was.. embarrassing to admit.

She hummed a known tune to herself as she leant forward to get a better look in the mirror, taking up a pair of discreet, yet complimentary earrings to go along with the pale colours she had chosen, fastening them in her earlobes and pulling away. Finally satisfied, she retrieved her purse, checked the time, and prayed to whatever higher power there may be that nobody saw her.

Mercy cashed in her good will points, because the universe was kind enough not to be cruel.

She safely navigated out of the base and hailed a taxi to drive her to the location she had requested. Her thoughts were not kind throughout the agonizingly long journey, even if it only took ten minutes without traffic, constantly debating if this was a good idea in the first place. After all, the main headquarters of Overwatch was well equipped to service them all, with various cafeterias, bars, and so forth.

Not to mention, the one day she took off and left the clinic in the hands of her personnel staff, she didn't expect to spend it like this.

The car slowed down to a stop, and she peered out of the window to see the fast-food restaurant, before taking a deep breath to steady herself. She was not going to be intimidated by something she herself asked for to happen. Angela paid the driver, stepped out, and entered the establishment with determination.

Needless to say, it was easy to spot Roadhog from a mile away. His bulk easily dwarfed the small tables, and he seemed to have claimed a spot by the window, with leather bound chairs instead of the usual plastic ones. A guilty look crossed her face when she noticed he had already ordered, with what appeared to be her meal completely untouched. She had to hand it to the Junker – he was correct in assuming what she would have gotten and the portions.

He looked.. exactly the same, which began to make her feel that her simple clothes were overdressed. The only difference was that his mask was pushed up far enough that his mouth was exposed, but otherwise his face remained obscured. His eating slowed when she approached, and he gave a decisive snort.

"Didn't think you'd actually turn up."

Angela bowed her head, slipping into the seat opposite him and placing her purse neatly on the chair beside her, stealing a pot of ketchup and her portion of fries for herself. She offered him a rueful smile.

"I try not to make appointments I can't attend, Mako. I would have called in advance if I wasn't going to." she munched on the fry after dipping it into the sauce – on the plus side, they were still hot, indicating that Mako hadn't been here for long, even if his meal indicated otherwise. He seemed to be a fast eater, or he ordered seconds.

He didn't respond afterwards, returning to his burger and she likewise continued on her fries. Generally, Angela didn't mind fast food, because she didn't indulge often, and everything was acceptable in moderation. When she reached for her drink and sipped it, she was surprised at the level of insight the man opposite her possessed, at least when it came to food, it seemed. A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips, but she hid it behind the straw of the cup.

"I wanted to apologize, for my presumptuous behaviour regarding your canister." she began after swallowing, tone careful – guarded, and watching his body language. "I have given it the all clear, and you should be able to pick it up at your locker. I hope you understood the necessity."

"It was cute watching you squirm." he huffed, and she saw his lips twist into a grin. It was unpleasant, to say the least. "I thought you really were going to call your boyfriend out."

Angela bristled, placing the fry back into it's packet and a frown captured her face. She reminded herself briefly that yes, it was Roadhog, and to expect scathing comments like that. The best thing she could do was not to react to it, thus she drained her frustration, and offered a very convincing forced smile. T _wo can play at this game, Mako, and I have years of psychological schooling._

"Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Mako. I thought we already established I'm.. _'available.'_ " She unwrapped her burger, picked at the gristle and wiped her fingers on the napkin.

"That's why I'm here, right." he chuckled lowly. "You dig the mask."

Mercy paused mid bite, then swiftly chewed and gulped it down to stare incredulously at the wide man.

"What." Her tone was flat, brows furrowed in bafflement at his suggestion. The.. _mask_? There was nothing particularly attractive about it, although the pig theme was cute to some extent, it wasn't exactly something she looked for in a person. Roadhog seemed pleased with himself that he fit into this so called category he set up, and she was left confused.

At her bewilderment, he decided to at least elaborate how he came to such a conclusion. He also noted the fact she seemed more bothered by the fact she'd like him over the mask than who he was.

"The American, the melodramatic robot ninja, the relic, the jet woman." he listed off with his fingers, taking great amusement in the way Mercy's face was an absolute theatre show in her expressions. "Pretty sure you've thrown longing glances at the terrorist. And now me."

Angela's mouth slowly dropped open, before she closed it and squared her jaw. A few choice, untranslatable words came to mind, but it would lack effect without him understanding German or Swedish. Answering them individually would likely ruin the point of playing the game, so she hid her flushed cheeks and aggrieved temper behind the burger as she chomped on it purposefully, not responding until she knew she could without her voice wavering once.

The one before last struck a nerve, at least. Reaper was a sore subject, and spurned her to one up his petty playing.

"It's unhealthy that you've kept such an incorrect, close account." she flippantly replied. "But I am surprised you've documented it at all. What would _Jamison_ think?"

Silence befell the giant, and he leaned ever so slowly forward, head tilted down and face inches apart from her. This was a typical intimidation tactic that Angela was familiar with, and did not falter or move back, even if a bead of sweat began to build on the back of her neck, her face was a perfect mask of impassive authority. Ocean-blue eyes stared deliberately up into the area that would be his eyes, narrowing ever so slightly in provocation.

"What did you say." His voice was deadly quiet, barely audible with it's usual rumbling deepness, but unobstructed by the mask's filters. In fact, it sounded even scarier without such a thing. Tenseness grew, and neither of them budged, until Mercy pushed the fries with her index finger towards him, and stated coolly;

"Your fries are getting cold."

Mako fell back into his chair, at first only snorting before it grew into a guffaw of laughter; hand resting on his belly to steady the jiggling. She may not have repeated herself, but her nerves of steel was certainly something to commend. Not many could stand up to him face to face and live. He grabbed the portion, scoffing them down as Mercy eased back against her chair and sighed slowly through her nose.

"You grew a spine." he said in between bites, then added cheerfully. "Don't involve Junkrat again."

He didn't have to say what would happen if she did, she merely nodded mutely. The younger Junker was clearly his sore spot as Reaper had been for her. It amazed her how easily they could speak within the lines: implications and hidden intentions that were far more powerful than what they actually were saying.

A moment passed before he spoke up again as she was absent mindedly drinking her cola, having finished her meal and taking a moment to reflect.

"Why did you bring me out here. You could've told me about the canister in the base."

"I could've.." she agreed. "But the meal was a better suited apology than simply words, methinks."

"A way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Angela shook her head, even smiling at his little jab, having flipped the tables to her advantage in the last power struggle, she felt no need to rise to the bait once more. She also was not mentioning that studying the canister gave her much more insight into his medical health than she realised. Much like Jamison, his levels of irradiation were far above the range of acceptable, and given he had lived longer than the younger Junker in such conditions..

In the back of her mind, she wondered, just what Mako was like before the Outback incident. Immediately after, his advice rung in her head like an echo.

 _Don't get attached._

Yet the doctor knew no matter how hard she tried, she would end up becoming so. That was the one fatal flaw – she was a genius, the best medical researcher and practitioner this generation.. but she grew to learn and shoulder on her patient's burdens. Worryingly, she knew that in sometime, she will become emotionally exhausted. If it hasn't happened already, what with the late nights and tired mornings.

Neatly, she swept her rubbish into the bin, gathered her purse and dipped her head politely to her companion. As she was leaving, she could've sworn she heard a sidelong comment from him about her looking nice, which broadened the small smile on her face.


	23. Regicide

**Title:** Regicide

 **Characters:** Tracer, McCree, Soldier: 76, Ana, Reaper.

* * *

Frankly, it was not the exact _next_ mission that Jesse and Lena enacted their plan.

It was the old westerner's idea to delay the surprise attack, as he wanted to make sure every aspect was covered, and to intercept on a location that gave them the greater advantage. So, the scout played along for now, teasing and taunting the black robed terrorist with each meeting, ultimately ending in minor skirmishes that always left both of them slightly worse for wear. It had been going on for some time since that initial meeting, after all.

Lena had to admit, the way Jesse's face twisted into ragged concern intermingled with brimming fury when he dropped by and saw Mercy having to pick out shrapnel from one of Reaper's shotgun shells blasting into the wall as she passed was endearing. She offered a lopsided grin that didn't reach her eyes, as it was engulfed by McCree's worry. Alarmingly so, he had not even made one snide comment about her state of undress when he checked up on her, which was the indicating factor for how serious he truly was.

As for the actual clashes themselves, they were usually unrewarding. Most of the time, Reaper was silent, deigning to stalk and hunt her down instead of his usual psychological warfare. Other times, he continued with his cryptic nonsense that he in no way should be able to know unless he was once a member of Overwatch – and even then, going from Jesse's theory, she was beginning to get a scary idea of just who Reaper may be.

It wasn't direct confirmation, which helped her sleep at night, but the very fact it could be _him,_ churned her stomach and made her feel utterly sick to the core, mind swimming with far more questions than the answers it would provide. When recalling all that he had said, and imagining for it to be him saying it, instead of the Reaper she knew, the usually spunky woman turned frigid.

By and large because she knew exactly in vivid detail, _private_ moments she had shared with Gabriel - she looked up to him as both a senior officer and as a person. He had been the first to help her settle in, and while her chirpy, extroverted personality made it easy for Tracer to fit in, she still fell back to confide in him, before she became better acquainted with Winston, Jesse and Angela.

Regardless, she was growing impatient, and collared McCree the moment she could, slim fingers wrapping into his poncho and tugging him to stop, drawing him out of the downer mood he had carried since witnessing the injury.

"Come on love, we can't keep putting this off." she urged. The man scoffed, pushing his cigar to the other side of his mouth and having the courtesy to exhale the smoke away from her face, reclining lazily against the wall. He refused to meet her gaze, even when she stepped closer and made it uncomfortably hard not to, hands placed on her hips in authority.

"We either do it now, or it's never going to happen, is it?"

"Just hold your horses, little lady." he huffed out, fleshy hand splaying briefly to convey his exasperation. "This aint no simple rodeo we're talkin' about here. Plus I gotta hitch a ride without ol' Winston catching wind, or Morrison, for that matter."

"Why can't we just tell them?" she asked, brows knitting. "The more we have, the merrier and the easier it'll be to take that git down."

"And the more likely our boy Reaper's gonna suspect something and high-tail it out of there. Now step back, I don't want you second-hand smoking off my cig." He plucked his cigar out of his mouth, flicked the ashes away before reclaiming it once more, then reached out to seize her hands – and by extension, her hips – to push her away, though Tracer, firmly believing she didn't need assistance in doing so, dug her feet in solidly to combat the force.

"I can move by myself thanks -"

"My boy, did you finally tell her? I'm so proud!"

Both parties froze immediately, with Lena being brave enough to turn her head to witness the grinning visage of the aged Egyptian sharpshooter, Ana Amari, with none other than Jack standing beside her, arms crossed and fluffy white brow perked in what she assumed was amusement, given the fact his visor obscured most of his expression. The aforementioned sniper's grin was cat-like, going from ear to ear as she bemusedly watched the younger couple with her good eye.

Jesse painfully slowly removed his hands from Lena's hips, drawing them back to the safety of his poncho, whilst his head dipped and messy locks of hair desperately tried to cover his face which –

"Oh my, Jack. I think he's _blushing_."

"We might have interrupted the moment, Ana." the soldier smoothly continued, grizzled voice containing a hint of hilarity. "Should we pass by in say.. an hour or so?"

"It – It's not what you think." desperately Lena tried to salvage the situation as McCree was truly struck with embarrassment – likely because it had been Ana that insinuated such a thing. Had it been anyone else, he could've brushed it off with a laugh and a wink. Although, it was hard to get across that it wasn't what they thought when they were in a rather cramped hallway, bodies and noses nearly touching and, damning of all, his hands not where they should be.

"There's no shame in it, dear." the older woman beamed, milking their discomfort for all it was worth. "Little Jesse may be all bark but he's a real sweet kid. You better treat him right, or you'll have me to deal with."

As sinking into the comfort of his wide brimmed hat and poncho was not an option, McCree cleared his throat, scratched at the scruff of his beard and shuffled away from his wayward friend, voice cracking once when he spoke to try and wrangle up some semblance of dignity.

"Miss, Jack." he curtly regarded them. "We were just discussing about Talon's upcoming assault against Volskaya Industries."

Lying naturally came easy to the outlaw, however Lena, for all her rambunctious behaviour and spitfire personality, was still downright honest, and Jack knew as such. He inclined his head to her directly, his perked brow finally settling down to shoot her inquiring look, watching as her cheeks were flushed a rosy red, sweat glistened her forehead and she ran a hand through the nest of a hair.

"Is that so? Tracer?"

She groaned loudly in frustration, hands flying to her hair once more as she couldn't keep the lie as well as McCree, mouth running a mile a minute as she blurted out their plan in detail. All throughout, the tanned man pinched the bridge of his nose. Both the seniors grew serious, with only Ana's face visibly falling to a grim realisation while Jack furrowed his brows like a fluffy, angry caterpillar.

"Absolutely not." the man grounded out, stepping forth and pointing authoritatively. "I forbid this plan to go forward – and Tracer, you were _**severely**_ downplaying Reaper's involvement in your missions. Had I known, I'd have -"

"Intervened? Stopped the missions?" she bitterly intercepted, regarding her old commanders with mixed emotions. Jack remained steadfast in his approach, as it was not the first time they had butted heads over similar things, both past and present.

"No, we would've sent more personnel with you. You, and any other agent's safety is paramount. It's not a question about you not being able to handle him." he finished, despite her interruption. Ana softly agreed with his judgement though looked more concerned than angry.

Tracer's face fell, and McCree took it upon himself to push himself off from the wall, step up to Soldier: 76 and jab a finger onto his chest, flicking his hat up to expose his glare. "You can't forbid shit anymore, old man. You're no longer our commander. Unless you got a damn good reason to do so, then it's our business."

"I'm sure," the older veteran bristled, "Winston will agree with me. All it takes is one call, then good luck getting a ride out of here because whatever feud you have with Reaper is not yours to burden – it's mine."

" _Jack_.." warned Ana, though went largely ignored as the two men became absorbed with the brewing argument.

McCree gave a humourless laugh at the soldier's words, lips curling into a sneer as he could read between the lines and knew there was something he wasn't telling him. He grandly gestured in vexation, voice pitching an octave higher and making his accent thicker when riled up.

"Oh that's sweet. It's always been about _you_ , Morrison, hasn't it? Do you even know what Reaper's been sayin' to Tracer? But you don't care, because her problems are second rate against yours." he continued on disjointedly, as the true issue rose to his tongue, like venom he spat;

"At least Gabriel took the **bloody** time to listen to us, and he never lorded his position. Who were you foolin' back then, Jack? You were a _terrible_ commander."

That seemed to be the wrong button to press, because the white haired man sharply stated; "Gabriel _is_ Reaper, Jesse! If you pulled your head out of your damn _hero worship_ you would've made that connection. You already _did_ – but you refused to believe it, didn't you?!"

A heavy silence pressed into the air like a weight. Jesse looked the most disgruntled, puffing out a billow of smoke from the cigar that still clung to his lips, glare directed to the floor instead of Jack, whom was standing rigid, hands balled into fists at the tense exchange. Tracer's worse fears were confirmed, and looked mortified, light brown hues imploring Ana's aloof, gloomy visage. Unfortunately, they only further validated the soldier's words.

Naturally, the responsibility of fixing her long standing friend and nuisance's mess fell on Ana's shoulders.

She stepped to McCree, sighing gently and offering a slight, weak smile. "We _all_ have had history with Reyes."

She regarded Jack quietly. "Some of that history runs deeper than others, but Jack has never meant to invalidate whatever you – or Lena for that matter – has had with him. We certainly shouldn't fight over it. If he saw the strife he was causing.. well, the man that he's became now, he'd be _happy_ for it."

Ana didn't expect Jesse to answer, so she leaned up, softly cupping his cheek with her wrinkled hand. It was a simple motion, but it was enough to drain all of the stress out of his shoulders, cause him to slump and puff out a trail of smoke in exhaustion, lightly touching her hand with his non mechanical one.

"You two should join us." piped up Lena, determination shining in her hues. "And end this, once and for all."

Jack and Ana shared a look, with the latter stepping away from the sullen cowboy and nodding briskly. Reaper had gotten away against the two of them, but with addition of Tracer and McCree, they had a chance to finally end the decades old war between them. The soldier drew in a breath, his natural instincts to lead kicking in.

"Your plan could use some reworking, if you're willing to.. give me a chance, Jesse."

The man grunted. "You're lucky Amari senior taught me to believe in second chances.. after all, _**I**_ got one, didn't I? Let's hear it."

* * *

The Russian winter had set in quite nicely, and perhaps in another time, Lena could appreciate the wonderland that stretched before her, snow blanketing the buildings, streets and equipment like bedsheets. Her modest pilot's jacket and form-fitting jumpsuit bottoms were ill equipped to deal with the cold, and she could feel her teeth chatter in her mouth, fingers numb in their leather gloves as the material stiffened and provided no warmth.

Most annoyingly, her crocs crunched noisily against the fresh snow, and the falling flakes dotted her hair like bad dandruff and spotted her goggles. Nevertheless, the anticipation of the mission and the high-stakes it always brings thawed her out the icy embrace; especially when she was playing _bait._

They were close to Volskaya Industries, on the outskirts of the corporation, so it appeared that Talon were indeed gathering field intelligence, floor layouts and whatnot manually. She didn't want to appear conspicuous, and thus began to check every nook and cranny as she did for every scouting mission.

Lena shuddered as if a cold hand ran down the length of her spine, not because of the wind that was blasting at her exposed neck, but rather the presence that someone else was there. As instructed, she did not look back, even if she really could do with the comfort.

Without really thinking, she twirled her pistols, eyes darting to the left, right and in front. She risked a moment to glance towards her communications device, only for a collection of black smoke and cloth to congeal a few feet away from her. Lena snapped to attention, pistols out stretched and the barrels touching Reaper's chest the moment he rose from the ground like the risen dead.

His head tilted, showing that he looked at his predicament, his raspy voice following shortly.

"You're not being a good sport, Oxton."

He slipped into wraith form as she unloaded both clips into him; though the bullets passed through him ineffectually and embedded the wall behind him. The reload was fast – blink and you'd miss it, and she was trailing after his being with the tips of her pistols. He materialized much further away, shotguns drawn as they found themselves at a stand off as they so often did.

"And you could use some work at serenading a lady." she haughtily replied. "Love, we've done this same song and dance how many times? Aren't you getting the least bit bored?"

"Boredom is the last thing I would feel hunting _you_."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Reaper's grip on his shotguns tightened, a flickering moment of confusion going through him when he witnessed Tracer holster her pistols back onto her arms. It didn't matter if she was armed or not – he no longer functioned by any moral code or flexible rules that Blackwatch operated under. He purposefully readied his weapons, only to become wise to her game the moment the words left her lips;

"In that case, love, catch me if you can!" She pressed her fingertips to her lips, blew a kiss and tapped into her chronal device.

He didn't even bother to fire his weapons, because he knew she was long gone before he could press the trigger. Reaper rose his shotguns upwards in a neutral position, chuckling hollowly. So it appeared that Tracer was the one wanting to play – that was fine by him. There was only the faintest trail of blue light dissipating in the air from her accelerator, and decided to follow that.

The black robed man snatched glimpses of her flickering back into reality, always one step ahead from his striding gait, popping in and out to provoke him to try harder. A cautious thought flared up in the back of his mind – what if he was walking into a trap? Never had Tracer acted so genuinely carefree in his presence; it was forced, but he knew better. There was something he didn't know, and he halted immediately, surveying the all too open area.

She blinked back in, inspecting her nails casually as she dragged her gaze up to him and offered an impish smile. "What's the matter, love? Can't keep up?"

"I recall saying the same thing, once." He couldn't resist throwing that in, and as she spluttered in chagrin, it clicked for him. It was no wonder she was acting the way she did – she finally knew his identity. He muttered something about it being time, but it held no credence to his choice; she and Overwatch were his enemy. The world was, for what it did to him.

"Enough games," he growled out, cocking the shotgun and pointing it at her. It irked him that she still remained unarmed. At the very least, he had hoped that she'd go down fighting like a true wildcard, not give him the free kill.

"I agree."

Reaper swung around towards the sound of the voice, with his only reward being a strong right hook from McCree's metallic fist. The sheer force was enough to stagger the older man, white mask cracking from the impact. It seemed the cowboy's hand-to-hand training was not all for show, because he tackled the terrorist, grappling him at the waist and the shot from the gun triggered out of impulse flying elsewhere with Tracer dipping into cover quickly.

Her brows furrowed. All of the time spent discussing the plan had just gone out of the window, and she could imagine Jack and Ana were not going to wait for them too long. Jesse's emotions had overcame him upon seeing Gabriel in the flesh; and delivered him a long, overdue report on his opinion of the situation.

They struggled in the snow, with Jesse overpowering Reaper and keeping his arms at bay so he didn't get shredded by the shells. Sadly, the latter was well versed in combat of all kind and hissed out a low;

"Do you honestly think the techniques I taught you will work, boy?" He roughly kneed the younger man in the abdomen, winding the westerner long enough to shove him off, his back landing painfully against the ice covered concrete. A stream of curses tumbled out of his lips, but he couldn't stay down for long as Reaper certainly would not let up. Jesse blurted out harshly;

"Reyes, for cryin' out loud, it didn't have to be like _this._ " It was a nebulous statement, but it was enough for Reaper to loom over him, press one of his guns up onto his chin and tilt McCree's head back so he could look the man in the eye, raspy, hoarse voice offering a chuckle that was devoid of warmth or mirth.

"You are like the rest of them. You _left_ Blackwatch like a coward, refusing to stand by my side, even when I had stayed for you."

Jesse acutely remembered what he was implying. The mission that had cost him his arm those years ago – it was a painful memory he tried never to dwell on, as even now he felt the phantom pain creep up the arm that was no longer there. Distinctly he recalled the figure of his commander remaining in the clinic the entire time as Mercy worked tirelessly on keeping him alive, with Morrison denying the mission ever happened while simultaneously questioning Gabriel's judgement. Oh, how the emergency room had been bathed in his blood, and the _amputation -_ no matter the age he was, it was traumatic experience.

Ironically, he bore witness to the looming man's arm becoming littered with a multitude of pulse bullets, turning it into a smouldering mass of seared flesh and black mist, causing him to drop the weapon and give Jesse enough purchase to sweep kick him off balance and roll to his feet; head rushing with adrenaline. He shot a glance over to Tracer, noting her aghast face and drawn weapons.

McCree kicked away his firearms out of reach even as Reaper began to recover, the cells in his arms rapidly degenerating and regenerating at a hyper-accelerated rate – needless to say, it wasn't a pretty sight to witness. It posed the question if he was even killable, only to begrudgingly reflect that he was likely already dead.

To add to Reaper's disadvantage, Jack and Ana joined the fray shortly after, though only Jack was visible as the sharpshooter found a better vantage point. It was clear to them the plan had been completely botched, thanks to Jesse, but regardless, they had numbers. Reaper turned to look at the old soldier, grumbling an audible

"You have _**got**_ to be kidding me." With his good hand, he clutched his destroyed arm, knowing it would take a while before his body repaired itself to peak, working condition. To escape now, would mean being out of commission for who knows how long.

"It's over, Reyes." Jack stated with finality. "You're injured, outnumbered and without a weapon. I'm going to give you two choices."

"That's rich."

"You can either resist and we will be forced to neutralize you, or you come along quietly as our prisoner." After all, Reaper was Talon's top agent, with no doubt invaluable information that could turn the tide of the stalemate of a war between the force and the terrorists.

Gabriel knew that he was worth too much alive than dead (ignoring the fact that he was pretty much a walking corpse in the first place,) but the time it would take to regain physical form would be countless – potentially years like last time, which would give Overwatch the advantage in the first place. And given the fury that emanated from his former friend, he knew he would go against reason and silence him.

The grip on his arm tightened as a surge of pain washed over the already perpetual state of agony he was in; and he knew unless he wanted it to drop off, some medical care would be needed. At the very least, he could begin to plan his escape.

"You know what my answer is." he responded shortly.

Soldier: 76 nodded grimly, then signalled to take him into custody. He knew one thing; it was going to be _**hell**_ when they got back.

* * *

 _ **Note** : I'm putting the note down here because what I wanted to say dealt with the chapter, so I didn't want to spoil it. But yes, Reaper has been captured, because I needed some kind of reason to include him interacting with more people in a setting that wasn't just in the field. I'd like to expand on him and Mercy, as well as Ana, Jack, Reinhardt, Torby, etc. I'll try not to oversaturate the next few chapters relating to Reaper, but he's definitely going to be popping up a bit more often now, until he escapes. At this point, I guess things have gone full on AU mode, if it hadn't already. If that sort of thing isn't your cup of tea, I'm sorry.  
_

 _I find it quite amusing how these drabbles that were supposed to highlight Reaper/Tracer ended up with McCree stealing the spotlight (and apparently, the girl, too.)_

 _As a side note, I caught my fic being recommended somewhere that is one of my absolute favourite sites. I think I've died and gone to heaven, so thank you to whoever did that. - Guixi._


	24. Rejuvenescência

**Title:** Rejuvenescência

 **Characters** : Dva, Lúcio.

 _ **Note** : Something lighthearted and fun, after the tense past few chapters. Also for those who requested more Dva. Side note, thank you for all the reviews, favourites, etc. I never thought I'd get so many! You guys are the best. - Guixi._

* * *

The dark skinned man pressed a few buttons on his sonic sound system, turning down the volume to adequate background noise and couldn't resist bobbing his head along to the beat. As like any artist, he was conscious of his work, and didn't like to show off unfinished products, but on this occasion, he didn't mind letting the Korean gamer have a sneak peek. Plus, it was nice to have some nice, chilling music to combat the heat.

Something had happened with the air conditioning in the base, because there was none, and if there was, it only blasted hot air. Unfortunately, with how the Watchpoint was designed; it functioned a little like a greenhouse, which meant everyone was antsy, sweaty, and bothered. The poor Chinese climatologist had been nothing but apologises and was hard at work trying to fix it, but given the third hour, it seemed more than a simple technical issue.

Lúcio didn't care much. The heat reminded him of his home. Compared to Brazil, this was a light breeze. He still deigned to remain bare chested, lounging in tracksuit slacks, much to the envy of his friend lying on the bed, whom was hogging the minuscule desk fan, which was only expelling the hot air in the room. At the very least, she was not sticking to full body plug suit, instead borrowing his vest and his shorts.

In her defence, her room was on the other side of the base, and she couldn't bring herself to go over there to change. Any sort of activity brought reluctance.

"Lúcio, can't you amp it up?" Hana inquired, one eye opening to lazily regard him. "This heat is going to be the only loss I've suffered. R.I.P my kill streak!"

He boisterously laughed at her little reference, which in turn got her grinning, but obeyed nevertheless, pumping the volume up just slightly, considerate not to have it as loud as he did before. The DJ collapsed to the foot of the bed, one arm strewn across his knee and head back against the frame. It only took a moment before the upside down face of the teen was hovering over him.

"Just think of it as levelling up." he pointed out teasingly. "You can't play on easy mode forever, _Miss Song._ "

"I take offence to that, _dos Santos_!" she stuck her tongue out childishly at him, only pulling up when the blood rushing to her head was making her dizzy. Hana nicked a pillow from the top of the bed to place at the bottom so she can rest her chin close to where the freedom fighter was sprawled, playing with the long, cascading dreads with the tips of her fingers much to his chagrin.

"You are _so_ losing music privileges." he threatened, swatting her mischievous hands away, causing her to gasp in dramatic outcry.

"No! Then I'll never have a sweet track playing during my stream's break times." complained Hana, a cute pout settling on glossed lips as she tossed an arm over her head, eyes tightly screwed shut in dismay. A moment passed and she peeked, seeing the unflinching, bemused face of her friend, and promptly shoved him cheerfully.

"Hah, alright. I'm not that cruel," Lúcio said; smile shining like pearls. He added as an afterthought; "How's my favourite girl doing, anyway? Last I hear, you inducted Dad into playing _Hearthstone_."

It wasn't surprising that Lúcio picked up on the same colloquialisms as Hana, especially her unconventional method of nicknames. Being one of the youngest in the organization, he too decided to call the veteran, older members as such, though he held no underlying attachment like she did. It was more to annoy them: seeing Jack's brow depress in agitation at the nickname was always a blast.

The young adult grinned victoriously, bobbing her head in agreement. "Yeah, and he's kicking some serious butt. I've watched him play some matches – he's already rank five, even though he keeps missing _lethal_. I'm doing.. fine, I guess. Grandpa kinda annoyed me the other day."

She didn't need to explain to him how that encounter went down, as Lúcio understood very well, suffering similarly. He turned so that he faced the bed, reclining on his knees as he reached up and ruffled Hana's silky hair to comfort her. She huffed, blowing the locks that had fallen over her eyes out of her face.

Still, she put that out of her mind, hues sparkling with excitement as she rushed to tell the DJ a juicy bit of gossip, leaning closer with her voice dropping to a conspirational whisper.

"But enough of that. I caught Mom and Grandma chatting in the café. You wouldn't believe what they were talking about." Simply thinking on it brought the girl to snicker uncontrollably, hyping the Brazilian man up for whatever information she had to share. Composing herself, she continued on, barely able to keep a straight face.

"So, Mom and Tubby are _dating_."

Lúcio fell back, eyes widening in shock, before disbelief settled in and he scrunched up his face.

"What? No way! Come on, Mom deserves better. She's more.. walking like an Egyptian, if you catch my crossfade." he tsked, arms folding definitively, dignity intact even despite his companion's guffaw.

"That was _the most_ corniest thing I've ever heard, bro. Besides, I don't lie." If mishearing the truth or assuming based on out of context information wasn't lying, that was. Smoothly, she continued, smug with her discovery, huffing only once at his lack of faith in her sleuthing abilities. "Mom was talking about some restaurant they went to, and it was _super_ romantic."

"Yeah _right_ ," he denied. "Tubby's idea of romantic was probably McDonalds. I'm just saying there's a hundred other candidates Mom could be with, she'd never shack up with him. What _else_ you got?"

"Okay, okay." the Korean teen moved on, hands animated in expressing the controversial stories she apparently overheard, even if what they were doing was little more than gossiping like high school kids. The interpersonal relationships that went on through the base was a deeply interesting subject for them, as an endless source of fun trying to guess what was happening.

"Get this. Sometime later, Grandma goes on all wistful, talking about the Cowboy and big Sis. Said something like," her voice deepened dramatically to try and emulate the older woman's cadence. "' _It's about time my boy express_ _es_ _himself to her now that Gabriel isn't going to_ _be purposefully insert_ _ing_ _himself into the picture._ _'_ I'm guessing this Gabriel is some kind of super jealous ex, or something."

"Trace told me she's been single this entire time, I doubt he's that." Lúcio contested, though slowly nodded in approval. It was a secret to nobody except the woman in question that McCree was not exactly subtle concerning his overwhelming crush, but what confused him was his immense chivalry and sensitivity – wasn't he some kind of gangster back in the day? It was hard keeping track.

" – Wait, why would Sis tell you _that_?" accused the gamer, a thin brow arcing in suspicion.

"N-No reason.." Darker skin or not; his cheeks still flushed in colour, and she had bonded with him long enough to know that he was being sheepish. A scandalous grin began to cross her face, and Lúcio was quick to try and dispel any thoughts in that direction.

"It was post mission, we – the team – were drunk. Some things were said." Ones that he didn't want to repeat on his end.

"Uh _huh_." Then, her attitude soured just a tad. "Of course, Dad lets _you_ drink. Did you know he told the bartender not to serve me alcohol? He's only lucky I'm not much of a drinker, anyway."

"It's probably for the best." he reasoned, fearing what a drunken Hana would be like. She could be a bit blunt at times, sometimes due to translation. Her English was not flawless, and often she came across far more crass than intended, or very brutally honest as she had yet to master the linguistic art of sugar coating words or putting it gently. She merely said it how it was translated.

"Probably," she admitted ruefully, soft eyes rolling to the ceiling now that she thought about it, sharing the same idea as Lúcio. "It's playing out like my old country's dramas. What do you think?"

"Although it's really none of our business," he pointed out in mild jest. "I'm routing for 'Cree. He deserves some happiness, you know? He just looks like a kind of guy that the world's kicked a few times."

A moment passed and he rubbed the back of his neck gingerly, adding; "Now that I think about it, a lot of agents have hit some pretty low points. I mean.. Dad's got those scars, Mom's got bags under her eyes and even someone like Bastion's been screwed over just 'cause he's an Omnic. Man, this sucks."

His realisation settled in Hana as well, as she grew silent and regarded what he said, lips twisting in a grimace and eyes wincing. It didn't help that the stifling heat added to the uncomfortable quiet that choked the room, and she buried her face into the pillow. For all their jokes and running of the rumour mill, there were harsh realities that often jolted them out of their exuberance.

For once, the Korean teen was starting to feel sympathetic towards the very people she joked around with, and for a moment, Jack's annoyance over her nickname was starting to make her feel bad. She hated such a thing, it was awkward, the feeling didn't suit her and it was twisting her stomach in – what, _guilt?_

No, she would not stand for such disgusting emotions. Hana had a plan.

She lifted her head up from the sticky pillow, prodding him with her index finger to snap him out of his dull mood he was beginning to slip in.

"Tomorrow, we're going to be the best. Dad will get coffee twenty-four seven, no complaints. Mom will wake up to a shiny, clean clinic! Show 'em the world doesn't always want to kick their ass!" she stated with conviction, grimace replaced with a determined grin.

"We gonna do that for _every_ agent?" Lúcio rightly questioned.

"Just the family."


	25. Relish

**Title** : Relish

 **Character** : Hanzo, Bastion.

 _ **Note** : I think there was more than one person that requested another Bastion related thing, though the inclusion of that being with Hanzo was The Prime Writer.. I think. Regardless, the idea is kudos to them/those who requested Bastion stuff. I'm hoping to get through some older requests before beginning the coined 'Reaper Show'._

 _As a side note, I am cackling like an evil genius hyping people for Tracer/Reaper stuff. If you want a more shipping-focused thing, then I have another story up called Tempestuous, which focuses on that (+ McCree) Shameless plug is shameless. - Guixi_

* * *

The Rock of Gibraltar could not compare to the idyllic beauty of Hanamura – the industrial buildings were like twisted metal growths sapping the life of what little was left of the nature, and the white smoke that billowed from various pipes served to taint the fresh air. As far as the Japanese marksman was told, the Watchpoint stationed there worked as both the gorilla's home and the unofficial base of operations since the recall.

Hanzo didn't dabble in the organization's politics. After the tragedy of his fallen empire and the loss of his brother, he hadn't wanted to deal with much at all, though his tortured soul pushed him to become the best, the prove himself worthy enough to reclaim his honour. Often, he found out the happenings of the base through chance, being in the right place in the right time to catch the confidential conversations in the hallways, only to swiftly fall silent when he stalked past.

The other times, it was the child. She, along with the good doctor and the Omnics, were the few people that did not treat him with either callous disregard to his agency or paranoid mistrust that he would notch an arrow in their back in some revenge-filled fervour over the dismantlement of his clan. She – he believed her name was Hana Song – often babbled on at lengths about events he had no interest in regarding Overwatch.

He let her talk, though. He may not be interested, but he did not become a successor to his father's legacy with dismissing information of any kind. The disgraced crime lord's face pinched at that thought. No, he was no successor. He failed the day he was unable to help Genji straighten out his life.

Hanzo pushed himself to force such a thought to the back of his mind, lest it consume him. Yet his attempts to try and retrieve the train of thought failed, and he conceded to drop it and move on, coal-coloured eyes gazing at the drifting blades of grass that he sat upon. There were no cherry blossoms to admire or soft, pastel coloured gardens to stroll through. There was only the bare minimum, even if it was aggrandized with a warm, summer-like palette. He decided it was fitting that he was not spoilt with Hanamura's paradise.

The Shimada elder's head came to rest back against one of the cold metal walls of the building he was reclining beside, gaze upwards to the clear, pristine blue sky, and he found it odd the first thing that popped into his head was how well Angela's iris reflected such a colour. It was like an ocean in the air; with subtle, lighter and darker shades.

He allowed himself to begin to relax, inhaling a deep breathe and exhaling slowly. Meditation was a technique he had picked up after he had left the shattered empire, something a passing Shambali monk suggested to him in his quest to regain himself. At first, he scoffed at the notion, but it proved to be an invaluable art in offering him the rare moments where he could unwind. He captured the vivid colours of the sky into his mind's eye, and closed his eyes, filtering out everything – the low hum of machinery, the chirps of birds and the breeze of the mild wind.

He envisioned himself in a place not unlike the village he grew up with, imagining how big the sakura trees and pink flowers used to look when he was a child. How he used to explore the same garden pathways with his brother in tow, the two of them climbing to their hearts content. For once, he was not struck with overwhelming grief, but instead, an oddly nostalgic, sorrowful small smile bloomed.

Black brows accented with greying flecks furrowed deeply when he felt .. _something_ land on his head. It seemed to move constantly, as well as making noise distinctly like a small bird. His eyes snapped open, and he was pulled out of that personal happiness.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand raised imperceptibly before he swiped the thing off his head, fingers gripping tightly to dissuade the frantic flapping and hectic chirping that followed suit. He brought it to eye level, looking at the struggling animal, little talons scratching out and head whipping every which way.

He breathed a sigh. Of course. He must have entered quite a tranquil state to become statue-like enough for the animal to mistake him as so. Carefully, he deposited the bird on his free hand, voice low and soothing as he tried to calm it down, finding the most effective method was to gently rub it's head with the tip of his index finger, unable to halt a slight chuckle at how it seemed to.. melt.

"What is a canary like you doing so far from the nest?" he questioned. Predictably, the bird could not answer, deciding that cleaning at it's wing was far more interesting than the man in front.

A loud, digitized screech pierced the air, truly startling the usually keen marksmen, gaze up to see the Bastion unit charging towards him. That couldn't be good. Hanzo had learned about how the Omnic responded to things, but was clueless as to why it was viewing him as a threat to safety, at the moment. With a tight-lipped frown, he placed the bird onto the ground, hands pressed strongly against the ground and getting ready to make his move.

Yet, the moment he let go of the animal, which fluttered and landed on the Omnic's shoulder, it stopped dead in it's tracks, re-evaluated the situation, and fell back onto it's equivalent to heels. The unit turned it's head to watch the bird, pacified by it's calming presence, and even tilted it's head along to the bird's twitchy movements.

Hanzo straightened up, watching the two interact with curiosity. Although he was indignant that Bastion would consider him a threat to the bird – he was more at peace with nature than he was with himself, after all – to see the unit respond to the creature like it was, for a lack of a better word, friend, was intriguing and heart-warming at the same time. Cautiously, he approached the unit now that it wasn't hostile, and Bastion tilted it's head to regard him, sensors observing his face.

"Hm, the bird seems familiar with you. A friend of yours?" he asked. He vaguely recalled that the aforementioned child tried to set up some kind of communication system with Bastion, given it's vast, comprehensive understanding. She mentioned something about wanting to break open the unit and tinker around to add a proper voice box, but lamented that being a whiz at computers didn't translate to the field of _robotics,_ and trying to get the Swedish engineer to help was hopeless, as he wouldn't touch the Omnic even with a fifty-foot barge pole. _  
_

It beeped once for yes, returning it's attention back to the canary whom seemed quite content to make a nest out of the rusted Omnic of old. Hanzo found himself surprisingly appreciating the simplicity of the conversation. There were no hidden meanings to look out for, no nuances of the English language he had yet to grasp, or body language that spoke differently than the words.

"Have you named it yet?"

Bastion calculated the question, before finally beeping out twice, signifying that he hadn't.

The Japanese marksman nodded, hand reaching out carefully to rub the little bird across the head, thankful that the Omnic allowed him to do such an action. He had to admit, he did feel _slightly_ foolish talking with the robot and a bird, of all things, but it was nice not to be judged or feared (or sometimes, both) for once. It brought him back to a quieter time, where he hadn't need to worry about things like responsibility, only to enjoy life.

"How does the name _Ganymede_ sound?" he said, much to the delight of the unit who buzzed out a series of electronic noises like a slot machine that just hit the jackpot. The bird was somewhat unimpressed with the name, seemingly resting from the excitement of human interaction. He chuckled hoarsely, pulling away from the two to return to his meditation spot.

He intended to close his eyes and resume his session, but it seemed the unit had parked itself next to him, burrowing into the ground and staying completely still, putting his vision of statuesque to shame, all topped off with a canary-sized hat that fell asleep.

Hanzo shook his head. The sound of the unit's processors whirring was annoying to begin with, but just like everything else, it faded into nothingness as he slipped back into his meditation.


	26. Reshape

**Title:** Reshape **  
**

 **Characters:** Junkrat, Pharah, (Roadhog, Dva)

 _ **Note:** Kudos to PixelDemise. I took a few liberties with the request itself, but I still hope you can enjoy. - Guixi_

* * *

Old habits died hard, unfortunately. That was why Junkrat was knee-deep in the storage room, which was swiftly turning into a scrap heap.

Sitting on the base of a turret, fleshy leg hanging off as he could not cave his height completely onto the small surface area, he shook the cylinder close to his ear, hearing something rattle within. Dangerous curiosity filled his crazed amber hues, stubby fingernails scratching at the metal piece to try and open it to no avail.

He shuffled a bit in his seat, pushing himself back and using a particular sharp edge of the base to pierce through the cylinder with relative success, then proceeded to smash the thing against the much more sturdier unit, revealing the rattling contents. Jamison's face, which was a delighted grin, fell when he caught sight of only a few screws miscellaneous bits and bobs.

Tittering in annoyance, the pieces joined their fallen brothers on the floor, his movements erratic as he leapt off the turret, peg leg scrambling to find purchase on the smooth, polished floor. Steadying himself, he hobbled onwards, tossing items of disinterest over his shoulder.

"Worthless pieces of junk!" he spat at them, predictably not getting a response and furiously kicked away a wooden crate containing spare parts, only to double take and dive on such a find. It only took a moment before his pockets were heavy with springs, bolts and other such pieces, with his bag (suspiciously blue and ice themed and he would deny was stolen) filled to the brim with larger sheets of metal.

As he was about ready to report in that the storage room was aptly cleaned out, the mess he made scavenging making it worse than it was, his maddening gaze caught sight at the most beautiful thing ever beholden to man, right next to the invention of C4 and huge bars of gold.

Dropping his bag, he felt as if he was dragged towards the weapon by some, seductive allure, soot-stained fingers shaking as they caressed it. A brief inspection yielded the answer that it was a _rocket launcher,_ and a chattering giggle brewed into a full blown, maniacal cackle. Junkrat pulled the defunct weapon away from the wall, arms wrapping around it and cheek pressed against the rocket's muzzle.

"Where have you been all my life?" he cooed, patting the launcher. Amidst the plane of insanity that was his mind, Jamison wondered – what was it doing in storage? Reluctantly, he pulled away from the weapon to scrutinize it, a sort of business mode encompassing him as he fell to his backside, set the thing on his lap and checked it over.

Ah, there was the problem. The frame was busted, the hole where a sniper's bullet had ripped through and shattered the launching mechanisms. Well, nothing he couldn't jury-rig back together – he built his grenade launcher out of car parts, paper clips and elastic bands, after all. Though, with such wonderful equipment, he wanted only the best for his new found love.

Then, he paused.

His gaze had landed upon some engraved text, and he shoved his face close enough to look at it, voicing out his discovery. "Property of.. Helix.. Security.. International." he recited. "Bloody hell, where have I heard _that_ before?"

Junkrat scratched at the tufts of singed hair on the top of his head, eyes squinting. He felt like he should know, as it was on the tip of his tongue, but trying to search through the enigma of his mind for information was a difficult task, needless to say. He huffed, stood up and hauled the launcher along with him, settling it over his shoulder as he nabbed some extra parts and shoved it in the bag, wobbling out of the storage unit a little over encumbered.

* * *

"Thats Pharah's."

Junkrat gave an absent-minded nod to his tubby friend's input, tongue poking out of chapped lips as he carefully began to reconstruct the mechanism within the launcher. He was no master weapon smith, but his expertise in engineering branched out to more than just demolitions, such as creating a device that could launch them without any deadly feedback or recoil.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he inserted the spring, locking it into place, watching it as he tested it by pulling the trigger of the (thankfully) empty weapon. Only then, did he decide to answer.

"What, Mecha-woman?"

Roadhog huffed, the sound filtering through the mask as a low grumble, passing Jamison a welding torch and observe him yet again throw any sort of safety protocol out the window and use it without goggles or gloves. The heat of the intense fire easily began to sweat him out, trickles of perspiration rolling down his forehead and dripping off his chin. A stray spark flicked outwards, spitting at his cheek and leaving a little burn mark there.

"You know that's a suit, right." the enforcer muttered. "She's going to be pissed when she finds you with her gun. And I'm not going to stop her."

"Lay off, big guy." Jamison waved him off with his free hand, switching off the torch and tossing it unceremoniously behind him – Roadhog caught it by the wire and guided it away so he did not have hot, smouldering iron searing his back. "I found this beaut in storage. All she needs is a bit of spit polish, a couple of new toys and she'll be as good as new."

"Right."

When he was satisfied the mechanism wasn't going to malfunction (unintentionally), the leaner, wiry man brought over the shell of the launcher, the hole long since repaired and given a custom paint job to boot. It was ugly, gaudy colours, adorned with decal that would put a graffiti filled wall to shame, but it was _his_ work and that's what made it special.

He couldn't keep still, he was that excited. Junkrat bobbed up and down on his heels, arms tucking under the bazooka and hugging it tightly to his chest, practically running out of the workshop without another word. Roadhog watched him leave, knowing that his employer was likely going to get into trouble. Again.

The blonde-haired Australian looked as if he was a mischievous thief and his illegal prize was the weapon. Agents that he passed grew concerned, and either wisely distanced themselves in case of an explosion and brace themselves for the impending doom. It took a while and a never-ending amount of anticipation, but he found the woman after his heart reclining lazily on the sofa in one of the lounges, keeping eye on Hana as she played on her laptop.

He didn't announce his arrival, instead sneaking as well as he could with his robotic leg scraping against the metal before the cushioned carpet provided little surface to find grip. Fareeha turned the page of a magazine she was reading, head tilting slightly and causing the golden bands adorning her hair to glint in the modest light.

Then, without warning, he dumped the rocket launcher onto her lap.

Pharah erupted into a string of colourful, Egyptian curses, reading material flying out of her hand as she tried to jump in fright, though was weighed down by the heavy gun, pain radiating from her thighs as the shock rippled through her flesh. Her hands curled into fists, only unfurling to shove the gaudily painted gun off of her, whipping her head around to slice anyone with the toughest glare she could muster.

Meanwhile, Hana had typed her language into a translator, gasping and even blushing at the vulgarity, before snickering. "Someone is _soooo_ dead."

Junkrat stood proudly, grinning ear to ear even as Pharah stabbed him with a black look, turning around on the couch to face him, gaze only briefly moving to the launcher before back to him, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smug look off of his face. It was tempting to return the favour of having a rocket launcher dropped onto her by hitting him with it, but she would not stoop to such a level.

"Ah, no need thank me, Phara _oh_ , I just did you a solid! Found her all busted up, begging me to restore her to working condition, and _whaddya_ know, she works like a charm!" he looked to her unamused, reddened angry face, to Hana being reduced to a mess of teenager and laughter.

".. was it something I said?"

"Jamison." said Pharah, tone deadly calm, inflection steady. "I am giving you the count of ten to leave. I will not be held accountable for my actions should you stay. One."

"Whaaat? Don't you like my gift? Look how pretty I made it! We can be bomb buddies!"

"Two."

"Come on, Pharisee, I know you love exploding things as much as I do. It's a match made in heaven! Your rockets, my grenades.."

"Three."

"Okay, if you don't want it, Pharmacy, I'll take it back! So ungrateful. I went through all this trouble –"

Her eye twitched. "Ten."

Junkrat shrieked in terror when Fareeha vaulted over the sofa, his leg and robotic limb frantically scrabbling against the carpet as he tried to get away from the woman with a vengeance. He did not stop to look back, finding it odd that he was out running her, but thought nothing of it, aiming to get to the safety of his workshop. The woman hadn't chased him, as she knew he would not stick around to make sure she followed up on her threat.

She tried to ignore the bemused face of the Korean teen, returning back to her spot and picking up her magazine. One of these days, she would get an uneventful, quiet morning.


	27. Regina

**Title:** Regina

 **Characters:** Tracer, Reaper.

 _ **Note:** I promise, at some point I will give Widowmaker some love. I've got a few requests and ideas about her now, so please bear with me. _

_Side note for flowslikepixelz, Soldier: 76 replaced the tablet long before Dva could find out that he broke it in the first place. The 'family,' well, her nicknaming goes a little like:  
_

 _Soldier: Dad  
Ana: Grandma  
Reinhardt: Grandpa  
Tracer: Big Sister  
Mercy: Mom  
Torbjorn: Uncle  
Junkrat: Big Brother  
Pharah: Aunt_

* * *

Coolly, her liquid brown hues studied every aspect of his black and red armour, which bore too much of a striking resemblance to old Blackwatch wear, the light reflecting off of his bone-white mask from the single, shade-less bulb hanging overhead. His arm still remained shredded, wisps of trailing black smoke escaping the wound as flesh and fabric tried to regenerate. The room he was stationed in was little more than a holding cell, sealed completely off with a two-way mirror being the only thing of note.

The cell had been rediscovered during the refurbishment of Overwatch, belonging to a relatively unused quarter that Jack had mentioned was to contain V.I.P targets or prisoners deemed to dangerous. It was deep within the bowels of the Watchpoint, making it fairly inaccessible to those who did not know how to get there. It hadn't taken long to get the defences up surrounding the cell up and running, so any trick he might pull would fail.

In theory, anyway.

Lena had stood behind the glass and watched him the entire time Jack and Ana deposited him in there. The first thing Reaper had done was to test his surroundings, talons screeching across the metal as he dragged them across the walls. Satisfied over something or another, he had reclined on the seat, and only got up a second time since incarceration to pace.

It was maddening to watch, and she couldn't fathom what it would be like to be the one in there.

Admittedly, she was supposed to be interrogating him. Jack had already tried his way, yet any semblance of information gathering divulged into a bitter argument that has lasted for years, and the Egyptian sharpshooter had to pull him out of there before he leapt over the table and _strangled_ the black robed man. Infuriatingly for Morrison, Reaper had kept nonchalant, not even threatening to lift a finger. Despite he was the one captured, he still acted as if he had the upper hand.

Of course it was impossible to tell what the former commander was feeling. Inwardly, he was likely seething.

For the umpteenth time since arrival, she ran her hands through her hair, grimacing at how the repeated action was starting to make the otherwise wild locks limp and grace her face. They were all taking turns trying to needle out any sort of useful titbit out of him, yet Reaper was not a man who could be intimidated. He was the incarnation of _fear_ itself, and interrogation usually was handled by Blackwatch.

Gabriel.. just thinking on the name brought years of memories forward to the front of her mind. She hadn't reacted at the time, because Lena knew if she did, she doubted she could've pulled off their plan. Her worst fears were confirmed, and she wanted to do nothing more than to curl up. Morbidly, a small, young part of her was happy he was alive, though she quickly squashed that thought down.

For all she cared, the fiend inside that cell was assuming Gabriel's identity. She'll let her memory of him finish the moment he had died in that freak accident within Overwatch, though no amount of telling herself that was working. With an airy sigh, her forehead bumped gently against the glass and her eyes closed.

"Why did you let your rivalry with Jack get to this point?" she muttered to herself as Reaper would not be able to hear her. "Did – Did McCree ever matter to you? Angela, Reinhardt, Torby, Ana – none of them?"

 _'Did I?'_ Her thoughts whispered.

All of those days spent in jest, or times he had trained with her, the late night chats, the tokens of affection she stole and he tolerated and deep, personal confessions – all of it, for a single instance, felt _meaningless._

Tracer pushed herself away from the glass, approaching the door to the cell, her hand hovered over the control pad reluctantly. This was the third time she thought she felt ready to face him, only to bail at the last moment and gather her wits. She sought the advice she had gave McCree not too long ago – either she did it now, or she never would be able to force herself to face him.

 _'There comes a point in everyone's life when you look your demons in the eye and you're faced with two options. Either you embrace them and allow them to dominate your life, or you stare them down and ask them to send your regards to hell.'_ Gabriel's words echoed in the back of her mind.

Her fingers tapped the buttons, the door sliding open just enough for her to slip through before shutting it behind her. Reaper's head snapped up to attention in her direction, watching her step towards the thin metal chair opposite him, twist it around so the back faced him and reclined in it that way, chin resting on the back and eyes piercing him with such intensity, even he was impressed.

" _Lena_ ," he growled in his raspy voice, dragging out each letter with purpose.

"Gabriel." she responded.

A tense moment brewed as they stared each other down – his mask made it easy for her not to feel the weight of such a glare, her lips pressed to an impasse as her voice momentarily failing her, every thought urging her to simply leave and get out of there. But no, she stayed, arms flung over the chair and chin raising to lean on the comfort of her arms instead. Reaper had his crossed, sitting in a noticeable slouch.

Neither of them spoke another word. In Tracer's case, she had a hundred things to say and none of them good enough to begin with. Her thick brows came to furrow, accenting her regard with mild discomfort and agitation.

"Do you remember anything – anything at all, before all of.." Unable to help herself, her hands came to gesture along with her words, conveying her point with emphasis. "This."

"Vividly."

She nodded, but the action was hollow. Desperately, ever so desperately she wanted to ask _why_ , but she had a feeling she would not get a straight answer out of him. So many questions floated in her mind as did the memories and it was starting to make her feel slightly nauseous, topped off with a pressure that was weighing down on the top of her head and aching.

As much as she reminded herself that she should focus on topics pertaining to Talon, drifting came easy. Her face, which always held a smile even in the toughest situations, or eyes shone in determination and boundless optimism, was now wan, taught with grief.

"What was I to you?"

Reaper stalled the answer, feigning interest in his talons from his good arm, curling them tightly into a fist, aware how the action was alarming to her, but he did not spy the usual caution. No, her eyes implored at his mask, sitting on the edge of the seat just waiting for his answer. He could lie and watch how she shattered and crumpled like fallen pottery, but he decided the truth was far more chilling.

"Amusement, mainly." He had been frighteningly fascinated in the way she came alive and animated by chatting, the way her smile seemed to brighten the mood and cause other people to join along with her, regardless of their own feelings. As someone who did not understand emotion at an acceptable level, it brought endless humour in trying to decipher all the little quirks and quips that made up the woman called Lena.

"Useful to some extent, after your accelerator." The Slipstream accident, while mismanaged and shouldn't have happened in the first place, had shoved Tracer to the front view. The chronal accelerator had paved way to abilities that men like him could only dream of – the possibilities of what she could do under when given the right command – _**HIS**_ command – would've been endless.

"So what you're saying, is that I was little more than a _tool_?" her voice was devoid of any emotion, face reflecting as such.

"And now, my enemy." he finished as if she hadn't interrupted him.

He did not flinch when Lena's fist slammed against the table, chair knocked haphazardly away as she stood up swiftly. Her visage twisted into such unbridled fury that boiled within, shoulders twitching in slight tremors as she tried to keep her composure, to keep her in. The long fuse runs out eventually, and a major part of her finally snapped, told her to let it go, that it was fine to get mad once in a while, and she revelled in the white-hot anger that bled into her tone; steadfastly holding her voice together as she exploded;

"That's it – that's _**IT**_?! All of the advice you ever given me to cope with the accident, all of the moments you let me _hold onto you_ because I needed to feel like I was still anchored in time and the stupid confessions you listened to was because it _**amused** _ you?" Her lips pulled back to snarl. "You – you bloody wanker! You didn't _care_ at all, did you?"

"Is that what I am to you, Lena?" he mocked, unperturbed by her outburst. If anything, he seemed pleased to have finally pushed the woman to the brink of such hatred, that maybe she could fathom just a portion of what _he_ felt, of what he suffered. There was no-one who knew the extent of his agony or the depths of his burning rage. What she had done now was but a taste.

Her hands balled so tightly into fists he thought she was getting ready to punch him. But, she withheld that, knuckles turning stark-white as the adrenaline rushed to her head and made her feel quite dizzy. It did little to stop the proceeding onslaught, laughing so disjointedly and humourlessly that Reaper believed he might have overdone it.

"I _trusted_ you." she spat. "I _looked up_ to you. I thought you were the bloody bee's knee's and how can a foolish little girl like me grab the attention of the man I called Gabriel. I wish I realised sooner than now that you were the monster Morrison was making you out to be."

"Morrison didn't understand anything," he hissed violently. "It's because of him -"

Tracer did the impossible. She held her ground against him.

" _No._ If the **both** of you were not so wrapped up in your feud, you would have seen how you were dragging us all down and dividing us apart." There was still some residual anger within her, but most of the steam had evaporated and left an exhausted, emotionally sapped woman. Tiredly, she retrieved her chair, slumping back onto it and cradled her head with her hands, blocking Reaper out from her sight.

She could still hear that hoarse, growling voice, though. "No-one stood by my side. Not Ana, or Angela, or McCree. And certainly not _you,_ who claim to understand my point of view. He took all of you away from me – he is just as much a ' _monster_ ' as I apparently am."

"You **pushed** us all away, Gabriel." she murmured. ".. I wanted to be by your side, but every time I looked at your face I saw – I _felt_ – the hatred. I couldn't be beside or support that. It was like the closer Overwatch got to the brink of desolation, the more we became pawns to play against him."

Surprisingly, he didn't answer her. Lena was unsure if that was because she was accurate or if he was doing it on purpose to let her wallow in the misery of what she thought was the truth. As much as she wanted to simply pin all of the blame onto Jack and Gabriel, the simple fact was that she made a choice, and regretting it would only serve to drown her in grief.

She merely had to live with it and the consequences it brought. One may claim in hindsight it was for the best - had she followed her heart instead of her head, maybe she too would be behind bars or perhaps worse. At the end of the day, with an issue like this, she shouldn't concern herself with who was to blame. Gabriel was no more, the husk of what he was sat in front of her was a terrorist, a criminal. Not someone she poured her soul into.

The sprite of a woman thought back on her little vent, hopelessly clinging to some optimism that at one point he was not completely heartless and he did share similar feelings. Up until the quiet war between him and Morrison escalated, that was. The silence was becoming a bit too much for her to bear, so Lena rose up from her seat, neatly tucked it back under the table and began to leave.

"Lena."

Whatever he had to say, she had no interest in any longer, and she left without so much as a glance over her shoulder.


	28. Remember

**Title:** Remember

 **Characters:** Reinhardt, Widowmaker, (Mercy)

 _ **Note:** IT'S FINALLY HERE, the Widowmaker chapter. I hope it was worth the wait! One thing:_

 _The way I ship ReaperxTracer is.. weird. Reaper (even as Gabriel) is not a touchy-feely kind of person, nor is he nice. It plays more on the subtext and tension between the characters and little hints of what it was instead of outwardly saying "THIS IS A SHIP."  
_

 _Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Adrian Lockhart was but one of many soldiers within the reborn Overwatch organization, as they slowly began rebuilding their task force, much to the chagrin of a certain head of medical research, the need for more men and women trained in combat rose. He was by no means an _agent,_ a title which embarked on highly dangerous missions in small strike forces of six. No, he, along with many others, made up the security around the base, handled run-of-the-mill operations and simple escorts for people with way too much money on their hands.

Imagine his surprise, after exiting from the washroom and gathering his fallen pulse rifle and backpack from the wall and heading to the front where they were waiting for said person with way too much money on their hands to find Reinhardt Wilhelm, living legend, amongst them.

The German giant laughed boisterously, hoisting up another soldier to recline on the shoulder of his Crusader Armour and flexed, causing them to hold onto the thick, metallic casing for dear life. His voice practically boomed; easily resounding throughout the room and reverberated deeply into his chest.

"Does anyone _else_ wish to test my strength? I, Reinhardt, do not lie! It is against my code!" he informed, kneeling down and letting them safely get back to their feet. A huge smile was plastered on his face. Lockhart, on the other hand, gaped, almost dropping his gun in surprise after seeing the old relic – a hero in his own right – simply just.. being there.

"S-Sir?" he squeaked out, cowing the moment the gentle man set his (admittedly kind) gaze upon him. As if remembering something, he fumbled out a botched salute, standing up rigidly, wincing when Reinhardt merely chuckled cheerfully and patted him on the back.

"Ease up, my boy! This is not boot camp." the elder teased. "What can I help you with?"

"O-Oh, nothing, sir." Adrian bumbled. "I was, just awe-struck. I didn't know this mission was important enough to warrant an agent accompanying us. It's – Nothing's going to happen, right?"

His anxiety was understandable. While Reinhardt's presence was a delight to the younger soldiers, it did not bode well to the dangers of the mission. It wasn't as if they didn't see action – Soldier: 76 strictly enforced that soldiers and agents alike partook in combat simulation at least once a day if not on field, though a situation in simulation was a whole lot different than in reality.

Still, the senior remained a force of positivity, ruffling the man's hair, whom was too timid to protest against it.

"Not on my watch," his good eye twinkled with mirth and kinship. "Jack – _ahem_ , _Soldier: 76,_ believes it does well to have the veterans mingle with the rookies. Perhaps you and your friends here can learn a thing or two from this old dog. That, and I cannot stay cooped up in the base for too long. My hammer longs for justice."

On cue, he hefted the great engine powered war-hammer to his shoulder, easily holding it's weight with one hand as if it was light as a feather. While other agents may consider a simple escort task to be 'beneath' them, Reinhardt steadfastly believed that there was no task too great or too small for him. Plus, he was rather fond of seeing the soldier's faces bloom into delight at his arrival and assistance. There wasn't too many things in the world that could replace that feeling.

There was a buzz, and the communications within their headsets – and Reinhardt's helmet – sparked into life, with an older male voice sounded through. " _The VIP has just arrived. Get ready to deploy in two._ "

* * *

As it turned out, the VIP they were escorting was an Omnic. It wasn't much surprising as King's Row had become wrought with racism of old between the robots and the humans ever since Tekhartha Mondatta's assassination, which had created another movement that most news stations were dubbing the ' _Second Omnic Crisis.'_

One could not go five feet without seeing slurs directed at the Omnics splattered across the walls and underground tunnels in discriminatory graffiti. There had been documented attacks, mostly done by groups of outspoken, narrow-minded humans targeting several Omnic hotspots with pipe-bomb styled EMPs.

Reinhardt was frankly disgusted with how the situation has developed. Even more disheartening, was that King's Row was not the only affected city by this fanatical racism – Russia had been hit the hardest, with estimated death counts tolling at fifteen-hundred thousand and rising. Zarya had expressed her displeasure (putting it mildly) at Overwatch's seemingly lack of response, and was given time to postpone her agency to help her country, with open access to Overwatch's resources.

He longed to lend his hand and hammer to defend Russia, but unfortunately the organization just did not have the upstanding influence it once had, and countries were hesitant to support or put their stock back in the peacekeeping task force. Reinhardt had a feeling that in time they will, when they become under attack.

For now he kept a happy face, walking beside the sleek, black vehicle as they escorted him to the Omnic portion of the city. Some of the soldiers joined around him, guns slack, where as others were mounted on hover bikes and trailing behind, keeping their flank secure.

" _Iris_ _has reached the checkpoint,_ " the crackling, digitized voice stated over communications. " _Keep an eye on the rooftops and alleyways. We're picking up unregistered signals towards the left quadrant._ "

"I'll check it out, Sir." Adrian volunteered, looking up to the legendary man with determination. The elder chuckled, unable to fault the enthusiasm of young people and dipped his head in blessing. Reinhardt was not even commander of the operations, but the men and women around him certainly looked up towards him as such. No matter, if they saw him was a pillar of virtue and command, then he would do his best to support that.

He broke away from formation, raising his gun up to chest level and jogged towards the collection of alleyways to the left. He only needed one glance to realise that the 'unregistered signals' were merely a few tomcats scavenging through the rubbish bags. He rolled his eyes and tapped into his headset.

"Left quadrant secure -"

His scream filled each of their heads as a bullet from seemingly nowhere pierced through his neck. Blood oozed from the wound as he fell to the ground, breathing becoming shallow as he desperately tried to stop the flow in futility. The peace and quiet had suddenly erupted into a flurry of activity and movement, the car stopped as there was one thing that was on everyone's mind. It was Reinhardt who braved to rush forth and haul Adrian's body to safety, another bullet slicing through the air and glancing across his helmet.

"SNIPER!"

"Get your head down or lose it!"

"H-How do they know we're here?!"

"Mercy!" the German roared over the emergency communications, settling Adrian down behind the vehicle where he was out of sight from any shots, save from behind. He signalled two others to keep him company as he rushed back to the front. They hastily tried to stabilize their friend with what meagre first aid kits would allow. "We need you, _**now!**_ "

" _What?_ " her tone was wrought with worry, though she had no time to question it. There were barely audible sounds of her gathering her equipment. " _I am on my way through air ambulance. I will try to find a close enough landing to your position."_

Reinhardt stood in front of the vehicle, bringing his left arm forward and activating his barrier. Within a split second, the blue energy barrier lit up the dank, narrow passageway they were in. The plus side was that it covered everything, from the VIP target, to all of the soldiers. Even still, he found himself yelling; "Get behind me! That is an order!"

He needn't have to tell them twice, and all of them huddled behind Reinhardt's shield, barrel of the guns pointing at every which direction, though there was no sign of anyone. The agent too, found himself drawn back to one of the soldier's exclamations. How _had_ they known they were here? It wasn't like it was some high-stakes, priority mission.

He switched back from the emergency channel, which contained nothing but static with Mercy's departure, to the main channel. "Tech! We need visuals!"

The voice that greeted him was not the grizzled old tone of the technical officer assigned to oversee the mission, but a sultry female one that lazily chuckled, her accent caressing every syllable as she mockingly stated; "He cannot hear you right now, _mon ami."_

Reinhardt felt as if his old heart skipped a beat, yet he held his position and his shield, grief working it's way into every muscle of his face. There was absolutely no mistaking – that voice, though marred with cruel intentions had to belong to none other than Amélie Lacroix. He had seen little of her since the murder of Gérard, though he knew from Tracer that the assassination of Mondatta could be attributed to a Talon agent known only as Widowmaker.

"Amé.." he breathed, as if the past, little pet name would trigger something – do anything. Alas, it didn't. There was only a matter of time before the sniper repositioned to strike from behind, and a sense of dread chewed up his insides. He tried to remain practical, shaking his head and proclaiming;

"Communications is compromised, do not utilize the channel!"

"Oh, but Reinhardt," she purred over line, sickly sweet. "Don't you wish to know what happened to little Amé? I'm sure you're _dying_ to know."

She was toying with his anguish, and that tugged on his heartstrings more than anything. He knew what happened to her: she was, as far as everyone else was concerned, dead. Like what had become with Gabriel, the Amélie he and many others came to know and love was no more, and he refused to let the vile vixen flaunt that name like it was hers any more.

Yet thoughts of conviction did little to hold up the overbearing sadness he felt simply hearing her voice, twisted and violated by some cold amusement found in their situation. His good eye scouted up around the rooftops and catwalks were more prominent in the Omnic district, trying to find her.

"I.. what have you become," he lamented, trying to keep her talking as he bided his time trying to locate her. "You were such a sweet girl, a little shy perhaps, but we didn't care. Gérard loved you so deeply!"

"You are stuck in the past, old man." she hissed. "And you will be left behind by it. One day, you will become too old to even remember who the old Amélie was, or Gérard. You will even forget your precious ' _Angel'_. Retire and sulk over your memories while you still have them."

Her harsh words did little against his toughened hide, though the fact it was attached to the voice of someone who was once a friend, they dug in far deeper than he'd like to admit. He was successful in his plan, and he finally spotted a glimpse of her location where a soldier's frantic flash light had glanced ever so slightly across the vivid black of her visor.

"I am sorry." he murmured, carefully preparing his hammer while still holding the barrier. "I am so, so sorry for not being able to prevent what you have become, and I am sorry -"

"What are you babbling about?" she huffed.

"For this."

In a single moment, he powered up the rocket engines of his hammer, letting it heat up to maximum and swung around, arcing up a strike of all the heat gathered into a projectile. It travelled quickly, incinerating anything within it's path and leaving blackened marks across any surface it passed, until finally connecting with something in the upper catwalk he aimed at.

Silence filled the channel, and even the thought that he had killed her almost moved him to tears, barrier brought back up and hammer dropping to the ground, freeing his hand to clutch at his helmet.

Unfortunately (though some part of him was grateful), her humourless laughter rung out again, indicating that he had missed.

"Lack of depth perception is troublesome, no?" she taunted. "Mm. Not to matter, I have had enough ' _fun_.' Do send Reaper my regards, if he's still there, of course. It's getting rather quiet without him around here."

He didn't respond to her provocations, and the line went dead. He wondered what the outcome of the mission would be like had he not been there to protect, and felt his blood run cold at the prospect. Thankfully, the distant sound of helicopter blades cut through the air. Mercy sure knew how to make an entrance, as she left landing to the pilot and leapt out of it, descending like a feather with her suit's wings.

Reinhardt heaved a great sigh, barrier dropped. Times truly were not like they once were.


	29. Rebuke

**Title** : Rebuke

 **Characters** : Mercy, Ana. (Tracer, Genji, Dva)

 _ **Note:** Another Skipper311 request! Although I had plans to show the true conversation that Hana misheard ;). Speaking of that said user, if you ever wanted a great Roadhog related story, I'd suggest taking a peek at their work 'Apocalypse, One Man.' **  
**_

_Plug out of the way, I think I have way too much fun writing Ana. A lot of the agents are so battle-hardened veterans but even the slighest inch of emotion and it's a total meltdown of the norm. I've also realised that Mercy is probably the most used character in this drabble. Even more than Tracer, who I prefer to write than the former. That's.. incredible. And terrible. I need to include some less used characters again xD.  
_

* * *

Angela sighed deeply, bringing her full lips to the porcelain cup and enjoying the warmth of the herbal tea brewed by none other than the legendary sharpshooter herself, Ana Amari, whom was sitting directly opposite her as the two caught up with old and new times. The doctor settled the cup back down to it's plate, sapphire-coloured eyes gazing downwards, lost in thought.

It had been some time since her little outing with a certain Junker enforcer, to which everyone was none the wiser to, and found herself contemplating a lot of things. Naturally, she was taking his advice with a grain of salt – caring was what she did; who she was. It was part of the reason she even became a doctor, as the intense feelings towards her parents not receiving the treatment they required pushed her to become the paragon she was today.

Mercy was aware that Ana's good eye was scrutinizing her with as much keen accuracy as you could expect from a sniper, and hummed softly, the noise deep in her throat. The younger woman couldn't bring her gaze to meet hers, instead murmuring;

"The psych evaluation was far more informative than I'd of liked." The tip of her index finger rubbed gently on the rim of her cup, staring deep into the honey-coloured liquid. "This is the part of my work that weighs on me the most. Bodies of flesh are repairable, illnesses curable and diseases prevented, but the **mind**? I feel _hopeless_ in that regard."

"Every doctor has a specialization. I wouldn't ask a physiotherapist to perform brain surgery." soothed Ana, wrinkled hand clasping over the blonde medic's softer, younger one and squeezing reassuringly. She returned the gesture. "You are a medical _researcher,_ Angela. I'm frankly impressed at the wide breadth of knowledge you have to begin with."

The doctor bowed her head. "Please, you flatter me too much, Ana."

"If only dearest Wilhelm had your modesty." the sharpshooter muttered, before pulling her hand away. Her fingers entwined, creating a bridge for her chin to rest upon, observing Mercy's face carefully before casually asking; "How _did_ you manage to get Mako to agree to a psych evaluation in the first place?"

Ana's grey brows slowly rose up to her hairline as she witnessed the doctor struggle in futility from keeping a reddened blush rising to her cheeks, only for clear embarrassment to be spelled out with her rosy face desperately half-covered with her hand. A small chuckle tumbled out of her lips, ridden with anxiety to try and quell the furious flush, only for it to get worse with Ana inching closer.

"Angela, you minx. You _didn't_. What happened to that innocent little girl ten years ago? I knew Torby was a bad influence."

"It's not what you think!" she squeaked out, both hands covering her face as the Amari senior was milking it for all it was worth. Give Mercy a bloody body and she barely bats an eye, but the slightest insinuation of something unseemly and she was a wreck, and what was worse was Ana knew this deadly weakness.

"I bought him McDonald's and used the pretext of returning his canister." the good doctor lowered her hands, the cherry red of her face dying down to a more manageable, flush skin colour. Her tone seemed somewhat hectic, as if trying to justify it to both Ana and herself. "Some patients can be quite.. wilfully obtuse, and I merely exercised my right to consider the patient's health first."

"I'm sure." the Egyptian didn't sound convinced, but alas she broke out in a quiet chuckle of bemusement over the flustered female's attempts to save face. She knew that it was Mercy doing what she did best: caring about others, even going to such extremes to make sure the other agents are well looked after. Ana hoped that Angela knew to take care of _**herself**_ once in a while, too. Regardless, she would keep an eye on her, like a guardian for the angel.

Tucking a bit of fallen blonde hair away from her face to the tight ponytail, she retreated to the safety of her cup of tea, draining the cool liquid rapidly and set it down lightly. "T-To get back on topic, I am hoping to squeeze in a few psychology courses into my schedule. Perhaps even take along some of my students as well and add it to their criteria."

"I hope you have time to eat and sleep in that schedule of yours, Angela."

"Of course. As a doctor I must set an example; I cannot preach about healthy living if I am a.. how does Tracer call it? ' _Walking zombie'_?" Her blonde brows furrowed in confusion, slim shoulder raising in a small shrug. She was considerably fluent in English compared to most international agents, but there were some expressions that tripped her up. Nevertheless, she shook her head.

"Och, but look at me. I have talked and talked all about myself and my problems." Her gaze faltered away from Ana, before it was fixed to a more sombre one, sadness pinching the corners of her lips and the muscles in her face softening. "Speaking of Tracer.. how has she been holding up since.. well, you know."

"Gabriel's capture?" Ana filled in smoothly, without hesitance. Angela nodded. "As well as you'd expect her to be taking it. At least my boy is there to _comfort_ her."

Mercy's eyes rolled skyward as the Egyptian sharpshooter cracked a cat-like grin. The doctor was well versed in her attempts to try and push McCree into finally admitting to both himself and to the girl in question of his feelings, but she had never met someone as emotionally inept as him. It wasn't that he didn't understand (like Gabriel), but he made a fool of himself, or couldn't admit it without making a big joke out of it.

"You are a devilish matchmaker, Ana." swore Angela, to which the older woman laughed and continued.

"All I say is it's about time he **did** make his move. Gabriel isn't there any longer to purposefully take her attention away from Jesse, and as Reaper – I think his bitterness and hatred outweigh the attraction he has for her. For her sake, I hope that is the case." she finished wistfully, drinking the rest of her tea. "Plus, I think Lena is a smart enough girl not to get herself in that awkward position _**again**_."

"You seem to be on top of things concerning matters of the heart." snickered the doctor. "To think, you complained about Torby sticking his nose into yours and Jack's oh so _professional_ relationship."

Ana placed a hand over her heart, a mock look of hurt crossing her face. "Angela Ziegler, I am _ashamed_ of you. Jesse made his business mine those years ago – and we were nothing **but** professional. I, for one, did not persuade him for favours with McDonald's."

She muttered something under her breath that distinctly sounded like _'It was cheap beer instead.',_ but it went unheard.

Embarrassment claimed the younger woman once again, and she gathered her things and abruptly stood up, her voice raising a pitch higher in indignation. "You are twisting the facts, Ana! If my choices are going to be scrutinized, then I have a clinic to return to."

"Yes, I wonder what devious little things you get up to in that clinic of yours." cackled the sharpshooter, watching the younger doctor bid farewell, a hot flush gracing her cheeks and the back of her neck and her gait just a pace quicker to get away from her relentless teasing. Ana did not stay for long after Mercy's departure, gathering the cups and plates and heading to the café's kitchen, all while oblivious to the wide-eyed Korean teen that had been eavesdropping as best she could.

* * *

It had been nearly a week later after that chat with Ana. The base was as normal as it could be with the agents anxious, knowing that a very dangerous terrorist resided in the bowels of the organization, just waiting to make his move. Mercy tried to keep that thought in the back of her mind, because any mentioning of Gabriel or Reaper risked bringing forth dangerous memories of a more inexperienced time.

She was not quite ready to face the consequences of her actions just yet. Angela screwed her eyes shut briefly, shook her head in an attempt to dispel the train of thought and focused on organizing the medical textbooks, slim digits slipping the thick encyclopedias into their proper location.

Then all hell broke loose.

Just as she finished slotting another book on the shelf, her office door slammed open, bashing against the wall and making her jump, exclaiming something unintelligible in a mixture of Swedish and German. Barely a moment passed and the documents on her desk were caught in the wind of the momentum of the invader, files, papers and reports flying everywhere and making a mess to the floor.

Mercy had no time to react when her doctor's coat was grabbed and she was flung to face the startled visage of Lena Oxton, mouth running a mile a minute, her accent blending all her of her words into one stream of indecipherable mess.

"Lena. Lena!" Angela said, grabbing the young woman's shoulders and shaking her to make her stop. "Calm down, what is the emergency?! Tell me on the way, I will grab my suit -"

"Not a medical emergency." the Brit stopped her from darting off to grab her Valkyrie suit, hands running through her frazzled, wild locks, fingers moving frantically as she tried to convey her point in some spoken charade.

"A SOCIAL one! Look love, I know you like helping people, I do as well. But.. but.. Roadhog?! There is literally at least ten other candidates – and I'm not exaggerating here." she paused to take a deep breath, only to carry on before Mercy could interject. "That are so much better than Roadhog. It.. doesn't make sense – wait a minute."

Her eyes narrowed.

"He's not forcing you or anything, right? Oh, that makes me so mad! If he thinks he can get away with bullying our angel, then he's got another thing coming for him!"

Meanwhile, Angela gawked at Tracer as the spry woman carried on rambling about the ' _social emergency'_ , brain trying to process what exactly was going on. To her credit, Lena was not the most understandable woman when she became passionate over something. Her hands slowly slipped from the smaller woman's shoulders cover her own face and groaned loudly in frustration and growing shame.

"I don't know what you're going on about, little love." she mumbled, gripping the sides of Tracer's face and squishing her cheeks, immediately halting her speech mid sentence, and giving her quite the adorably childish look. "Where do I even begin? I cannot exempt Roadhog from medical exams just because you believe he is a bully – and he has been nothing but.. tolerable.. for me. Explain, slowly."

When Mercy was assured that Tracer wasn't going to run her mouth off, she let go of her cheeks and the woman took another deep breath, this time starting from the most wise point of the beginning and speaking far slower than the hectic bumbling mess she had become.

"Well, I heard this rumour from McCree who heard it from Genji, who heard it from – "

" _ **Lena.**_ "

" – Basically, you're dating Roadhog and that means I owe Zenyatta. He's the only one that bet you'd shack up with ol' Tubby." she finished sheepishly, watching how Angela's face dropped from shame to mild irritation, like all the annoyances and nitpicking pet peeves cracked the impenetrable armour of her tolerance.

"First of all, I am not even going to comment on the fact people are betting on my _love life_ _._ " she all but hissed that last part, startling the younger woman into a rigid, trained posture with a huge, nervous grin plastered across her face. "Secondly, it is not true. I am not dating Roadhog, I am not dating _anyone_."

"Really? Oh, sweet! Fifty quid still in the bank!"

"Now that I think about it," Angela started, her tone turning from worn to sickly sweet. "Are you not due for your check up?"

Wisely, Lena chose to blink around the desk, laugh heartily and salute the good doctor, shouting something over her shoulder as she hastily made her escape from the slow-fuse wrath of the doctor. She still remembered some very sound advice: Never anger Angela, as there were few things scarier than a furious doctor.

* * *

Mercy was going to chalk up the instance to simply Lena being.. well, her eccentric self, and after spending an hour cleaning up the mess the sporty woman caused and attaching the last paper clip to a set of files so the same would not happen again, she finally sat in her office chair, sighing happily as tightly wound muscles in her shoulders ached. She really could do with a minor break.

Not even ten minutes after she cleaned up, she heard a knock on her office door. Straightening up and shoving thoughts of holiday out of her mind; her tired tone rang out. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Genji. She inwardly sighed in relief – The younger lord of the Shimada clan was usually very reasonable, noticeably different to the firework that was Tracer. Ever respectful towards her, he lowered his torso in a deep bow before entering. She regaled him with a kindly smile and a warm regard.

"Ah, Genji. How are you holding up?"

"Well enough, Doctor Zielger."

"Please, you know you can call me Angela. You have more than earned the right to drop formality."

"For all I have asked of you, doctor, allow me to request the privilege to give you the respect you deserve." Though he wore his helmet as necessity, she had become familiar with the digitized nuances of his odd blended voice to know when he was smiling or expressing happiness. She conceded, unable to deny him such a request, and he slid into the chair opposite her, hands neatly folded onto his lap.

"Very well. What can I do you for, then?" she asked, fingers entwining.

"Actually.." he began, hesitant. There was a soft, gentler side to the living machine now that he was far more harmonized with himself than when she first ever saw him. The wisdom and guidance of Zenyatta was likely invaluable to the man – and it was almost hard for her to remember that the once assassin was just shy of her age, and not a child.

"I believe there is something I can do for you." There was surprise written on her face, which began to grow as he continued. "I have heard.. troubling, disturbing whispers around the base – about you, and that ruthless killer. He is assassinating your character. I think it is fit that we return the favour. I will gladly be your sword."

He jumped slightly in his seat when Mercy's forehead connected rather painfully with the desk, and in alarm he thought she might have fainted, but was quickly reassured when she grumbled loudly in German that increasingly grew more agitated. She lifted her head, hitting him with the darkest glare he had ever seen grace her angelic face.

"Who told you of this." her tone was flat, deadly calm.

"Oh, Miss Song." informed Genji. "She seemed very.. positive that this was the truth."

He watched her reach for the intercom, index finger pressing into the button and stated gently, ever so gently;

" _Hana Song, please report to the east wing clinic, Doctor Ziegler's office. Thank you._ " she clicked away, fingertips rubbing into her temples as she believed a headache was beginning to settle in from all of that nonsense. Genji had never seen the doctor so wound up.

"Perhaps.. meditation would be a good stress relief." he suggested. "I can – teach you what Zenyatta passed to me when I grew restless."

Her gaze rolled to the ceiling, and she muttered; "I think I may just take you up on that."


	30. Reinstate

**Title:** Reinstate

 **Characters:** Mei, Junkrat

* * *

Mei was a key member for the restoration project for the various Watchpoints, though while their organization was small and was not publicly sanctioned to be on active duty, they could only really scour the former bases and return back any useful resources and technology. Unfortunately, as they were beginning to find out, many of the areas were either defunct and derelict with no signs of breaching into the inner sanctums or had already been swept out by scavengers, rival organizations or worse, Talon.

Eventually, she conceded that some additional help may be required, and revisited some of the previous locations that were in ruins with a certain, twitchy addition. Her personnel crew stood by, rather anxious to Overwatch demolition expert, especially given his increasingly manic laughter and unsafe protocols involving his (alarmingly live) bombs.

The climatologist placed her hands on her hips, huffing. She was usually a very introverted person, and had been called many things – a pushover, a preacher, but she had absolutely zero tolerance for people she considered bullies. She tried to channel the inflexible, unyielding persona that Mercy controlled for the worst of patients, furrowing her brows and attempting an authoritative glare that just came across as a pout.

"Jamison, the one condition – _ONE_ – condition that let you come along was that you LISTENED to me! Winston made you _**promise**_!" she told, stamping her foot and grabbing his fleeting attention for a miracle of a moment.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, Shelia. Totally listening." And his attention was gone, attracted by the tantalizing allure of his compact little grenades of death, placing them lovingly as a mother would to a babe around spots on the wall, which was completely littered with mines and other device-detonated demolitions. The surrounding personnel wisely chose to tactically retreat behind the blast shield, whilst Mei stubbornly remained out.

"Jamison!" her pitch rose, making him wince and almost fumble his creation, shooting her with an askew glance and curled snarl;

" _What_?!" Sadly, his own tone could raise _higher_ than hers, giving her a taste of her own medicine as it grated harshly against her ears. "You said you wanted this door down, well, that's what I'm doing! Sheesh, you're all nag, nag, nag. I'm gonna have to start callin' you a _horse_ soon!"

The insult hit her like the crack of a whip, and her hands balled up into fists, though it was hard to tell with the oversized mittens she wore. Mei's face was also ravaged by a ferocious flush of frustration. She had half a mind to lecture him for a good hour on the importance of authorities and listening to others, though resigned that he would never sit still long enough for two minutes, let alone an hour.

Alas, she gave up, stomping off towards the safety of the explosive screen. What she wanted to tell him was that _yes_ , they wanted the door down, but not the rest of the building. At this point, if he hurt himself, that was no skin off her nose.

.. Actually, she would still care. No matter the kind of person Junkrat was, she never wanted to see him or anyone hurt. Even facing against their enemies, she always felt sorry.

Not mere moments after she had gotten away from the radius, Jamison had stumbled back just enough to be out of range but still dangerously close to potential debris and shrapnel to land on him, and plugged his finger into one ear, as if that was a suitable replacement for padded headphones meant for sound cancellation. Mei wondered, briefly, if the reason he seemed to shout all the time was because he suffered from hearing loss, and felt the tug on her heart strings.

A bully he may be but.. there were small instances like these that made her realise that beneath the surface there was a lot going on. She made a mental note to have a small chat with Mercy about it later.

"Oh, this is my favourite part!" he giggled. "Bomb's away!"

All sorrowful thoughts were thrown out of the window as the resounding explosion deafened everything around them, rock, plastic, metal and glass flying everywhere. Jamison had the sense to at least hobble as fast he could away from the raining and ricocheting debris, diving behind a sizeable rock as his cackling could not be heard. By some miracle, the crumbling foundations of the building held, though the door was, needless to say, reduced to scrap.

Now that his job was done, it was Mei's turn to politely step away from the shield and begin putting out the fire that was rapidly growing after the dust had settled and the smoke was rising. At this cue, the personnel and the scientist donned their gas masks as they began to clear the spreading fire, stamping out the smaller sparks and utilizing her technology for the bigger pyres.

After everything that settled, the Chinese climatologist surveyed their work and nodded approvingly. "That was a bit excessive, but, at least everyone is safe. … Thank you, Jamison."

Junkrat peeked out from over the rock, offering her a thumbs up, which was innocent and adorable on it's own, had it not been for the deranged grin that marred his face and the wild look that captured amber hues, like a kid that had just entered a sugar high. Mei cringed, stepping away from the madman and towards the entrance, carefully stepping over any sharp metal still poking out from the heap.

"Please, stay safe everyone, and stick together!"

While it would have been quicker to split up into smaller teams, Mei did not want to take any chances, after hearing that criminals have once before checked out these locations. She was not much of a leader either, and having the responsibility of everyone, including Jamison, weighed heavily on her shoulders and made her lament her status as an agent. Common soldiers and personnel often looked up to her for guidance.

She did like to offer advice, at least. The Chinese woman was very smart and had far more initiative than she gave herself credit for. Gingerly, she bumbled a bit with the flash light, trying to press the small button with her mitten-like gloves and managed to get it, offering light in the dark, decrepit hallways.

They began the sweep the area, though only ten minutes in and a recurring pattern was starting to crop up: many of the rooms had caved in or were inaccessible with sealed doors that could only be opened via a computer, and the base clearly did not have any power or backup generators that worked any longer. Mei also did not want to use Jamison's little tricks again in fear the building really could crash down on them.

Some of the larger rooms were still in decent enough condition to search without running the risk of having to tip toe around broken glass or metal. One such room she vaguely recognized as being a lounge, with the ripped sofas and legless tables stationed around.

A huge smile lit in her face when she noticed a couple of data pads lying around, and hooked the flash light to her belt as she jogged up towards the table. Typically, it no longer had any charge and the screen was shattered, but she hopefully checked for the SIM card, only for her face to fall. It was missing, which could mean a variety of things, though mostly that someone else had beat them to it.

Other members began searching the room as well. Jamison flung open some cabinets with callous disregard, only to halt when he came across a box. He squealed so loudly that Mei snapped to attention, endothermic blaster nervously at the ready, only to holster it in annoyance when he was shaking a very rattling box.

" _Kerplunk_!" he practically screamed, his shaking intensifying to the point that the lid threw off and what little marbles were left in the board game (and likely his head) spilt out. He didn't seem to notice, or care. "Oh, geez, this takes me back to when I was a kid! What the bloody hell is it doing here? We don't have kids in the organization, right? I mean, Little Dee don't count."

"Actually.. I remember that." Mei started; eyes wide. Back when the Watchpoint was functional, and many of the members were stationed there, Tracer had (as a joke) bought a bunch of board games, age ranges from kids to adult. None had wished to play with her up until a blizzard had snowed them all in, delaying their flight back to the Switzerland base, and hers back to the Antartica Watchpoint. That was the week full of entertainment and many, many arguments.

Junkrat tossed the game nonchalantly behind his shoulder, with Mei wincing at the sound of the crash as he began to rummage through the treasure trove of a cabinet, containing all of the boardgames that Lena had purchased. He pulled out several more boxes, each of them bringing a fond memory of game night.

"What about this one?" he frantically shoved the box of _Scrabble_ in her face, eyes wide in expectancy as if he wanted her to recall the fond memories and share them like a story. He even sat on the floor, peg leg curled under him and rocked back and forth, growing more impatient by the second. Mei giggled sweetly, and joined him, resting on her knees and taking the box out of his hands, patting it gently.

"Angela, Winston, Ana and I used to play it a lot. The best play had to go to Angela, who won a game with the word _'Oxyphenbutazone',_ which, of course, is a type of medicine." A grin took to her face as she recalled the priceless looks on their faces. The smugness that oozed from the fake humility Mercy tried to keep up, the crushed empty beer can from Ana as she flipped her tile holder and Winston's unsuccessful attempt at looking unimpressed.

Naturally, Mei was all praise at the time, until every round ended with Angela arguing that her words were completely valid because it was relating to medicine, making them ban medical-related words from the vocabulary. She stopped playing after that.

Junkrat gazed at his pile, rummaging through the collection before coming across a smaller piece – a laminated deck of playing cards. Upon further inspection, it looked as if his eyes bugged out of it's sockets in unexpected surprise, offering Mei a look that was something that was cross between outlandish, risqué and astonishment. That did not bode well for the Chinese scientist, gaze hesitantly flicking towards what he had in his hands.

"I take it the lads were a fan of poker much." he sniggered, showing her his find. Immediately, a fierce flush took to her cheeks as she hid behind her mittens, only to reach over and swipe the deck of lewd cards out from his hands and grimace at them.

"I think Commander Reyes got these as a joke for McCree for his twenty-eighth birthday, along with that gag belt buckle, and he took to the present a little too well. He got his wish for a uhm.. let's just call it a _poker game_ when the blizzard hit." explained Mei, skirting around the fact that it had been _strip poker_. The first game was all made in jest and didn't go too far – those who were uncomfortable with undressing were given the option to drink a shot instead, which lead to some **very** interesting outcomes, including Mercy's silent rage over the amount of alcohol intake.

It became apparent from that game that McCree was an absolute card sharp. To this day, she didn't know truthfully if he cheated or not, but whenever the resounding groans from the losers were heard, she could bet with accuracy that the cowboy had just gotten (another) royal flush. Of course, he lost when he wanted to, most notably when Lena was playing just so he could show off.

Tracer did not fall for his ruse, shutting his bad attempts at flirting by stated that she had seen better, all while deliberately choosing to look at Gabriel in that moment, whose back was turned. The vexation on Jesse's face was classic.

"Commander Morrison had been so mad.." she wistfully stated. He had chewed Gabriel out for letting the games go on and for even taking part in a small few of them (again, when Lena was playing – odd, Mei noted.) which often had the arguments divulge into other territories. He had never been so affronted when the Blackwatch commander casually commented that he would have done the same, had Ana been playing.

She never forgot the grin he wore when Jack did ease up and join in, sadly coincidently the same time Ana did, and never let him hear the end of it.

"We.. we gotta bring these back to HQ!" Junkrat stated, gathering up all of the board games and standing up abruptly. "Reinstate _'game night'!_ Ooerr, it'll be so fun, something to do other than bloody boring simulations! Think of all the new crazy memories to make! _"_

"I don't know.." she hesitated, using the fallen table to help herself back up and patted down her thick woolly coat. She took one look at his face, and sighed deeply at his pleading, puppy-dog eyes, somehow managing not to look like a crazed convict that he was in that small instance. "We can try to pitch it to Winston but-"

"Yeah!" he cheered, cutting her off before she could put a damper on things, and was pretty much hopping around, unable to contain the excitement he felt. "Aw that sweet little anklebiter is gonna love what we bring back! Well, not the cards – but everything else!"

Mei rolled her eyes slightly. While they may not have been able to bring back any useful intel, at least the games were something for their efforts. They held memories, if not promise of fun and entertainment. The personnel returned after their search, finding not much else other than additional personal effects left by the last time they were stationed there, which most of them were lost in the rubble.

"All right." she said. "Let's head back home. Everyone take a handful of these leftover games, we're bringing them all."


	31. Reasonable

**Title:** Reasonable

 **Characters:** Hana, Bastion, Torbjorn, Symmetra, (Winston.)

 _ **Note:** Quick rapid fire notes, go!_

 _\- I was a bit mistaken when Overwatch is set, so Reinhardt's making it sound like he was there when the Berlin wall was taken down. I re-read the chapter in question and if you kinda squint and pretend I'm a good writer then he won't sound like that. Cough. .. I'm sorry._

 _\- We will be getting a continuation chapter of Mercy slamdunking Hana's rumour mill into the trash, but not at the moment.  
_

 _\- Same with Mercy + 76. Request accepted, just not at the moment._

 _\- Bow vs Gun debate request accepted_

 _\- The next chapter may be the one you realise Ana is a sweet grandma **until** you hurt her babies (Fareeha, Lena, Jesse) and remember, oh yea, she was a merciless vindictive bounty hunter for a while to make sure the world is a better place for said babies.  
_

 _\- Reaper hurt all three of Ana's babies in some way. Can You Guess How?_

 _\- smol thanks to calmAnarchist for correcting my Terrible attempts at Korean_

 _Hope you enjoy this fun little chapter. - Guixi_

* * *

Hana _liked_ to consider herself a genius.

Unfortunately, as once lamented before, being able to hook a computer up flawlessly and build one from scratch is a little (read: a lot) different than the fundamentals of robotics, especially Omnics, as well. Her small stature came in handy as she was able to more or less recline on the back of the Bastion unit, legs lazily curled around it as she tinkered with it's exposed wirings on the main central hub; or commonly known as the back of it's head.

Her tongue peeked out a little, brows furrowed in deep concentration and a small bead of sweat trickled from her forehead, deft fingers weaving through the protected, thick wiring, eyes glancing ever so often to the data pad resting on her knee that part of the unit was hooked up to. Strings of data, binary and other code rapidly scrolled by, but it was useless to the untrained eye that Hana viewed it in.

The goal was simple, in theory. Construct a device or modulation that could translate binary and machine language into human speech, as _ugly_ as that sounded. Of course, theory was great on paper, but when it came to actually try and construct something like that, she decided that maybe installing _Microsoft text-to-speech_ was the better, easier way about it.

She yelped loudly in Korean when her finger snagged onto one of the sharper prongs embedded into the various chips that Bastion had, pulling away immediately to cradle her injured hand to her chest, sniffling dramatically. "This is the worst! I have half a mind to shove a freaking Iphone in there and let _Siri_ talk for you!"

A voice in the back of her head (distinctly taking Morrison's voice) reminded her of her language, and she groaned in frustration, forehead butting against the smooth metal of Bastion's frame. It beeped a few times, as it was not completely powered down as she rummaged around – it had to stay somewhat online to feed data to her tablet, which she realised had just taken up the majority of the phone's poor memory and caused it to crash.

" _Jen-Jang!"_ In her growing agitation, she punched the metallic frame, trying not to wince at how her knuckles ached and she wanted nothing more than to scream into a pillow. Bastion offered a series of beeps that she supposed were trying to be comforting, but for all she knew, it could have been laughing at her. Hana's eyes narrowed, hopping off of the unit and dangerously snapping her tablet free of the cable.

"You better not be making fun of me, mister." she muttered, walking around to face the front of the unit and pointing directly at the soft, blue illuminating horizontal visor. It pulled back a little, drooping like a child being scolded. "I guess we're going to have to consult a professional. Come on, Bass. I'm sure Uncle Torby will know what to do. First.. a quick trip to Grandma, I'm bleeding out here."

Strange, according to the unit's vitals, Hana was not bleeding out and the shallow cut barely qualified as a scratch, and would score the lowest in any kind of medical emergency evaluation. It chalked it up as another silly, human expression. It however, seemed to hesitate at the mention of the Swedish engineer, but did not wish to disobey the pro gamer and ambled behind her after fixing up the exposed panels that she left open.

Ana was easy to locate when she wasn't hovering near Solider: 76 and creating even more rumours for the mill Hana ran – usually she made her nest within the mess hall or the lounge, and this time she was relaxing in the latter. She was curled up on the sofa, blanket tossed over her and a leather-bound book resting on the crook of her arm. Hana noted that the older woman was surprisingly nimble for her age, and more often that not was caught in increasingly bizarre sitting positions. To think, Soldier had the audacity to complain about hers! Unless.. he didn't complain about Ana for _other_ reasons. The devilish smile that the pro-gamer now wore worried the sniper _slightly._

To her credit, the woman did not even roll her eyes at the Korean teen's request, merely glanced at the digit that was shoved into her line of sight and slapped a pink, kitten-themed band-aid onto it. Though Hana would've liked the bunny one, at least it was pink, and she gave the woman a quick hug before gesturing Bastion to continue following. It had observed the encounter silently (or at least as quietly as a machine could) and noted down their interaction for future reference.

The workshop, aptly titled _Torbjörn's Workshop,_ was a source for industrial noise that made up the din of the room; with blaring lights and huge, behemoth of machines residing in various areas, with a notable split where the engineers made their sanctuary. Junkrat's station was considerably messier, and looked like a scrap heap compared to the perfectly organized corner of Symmetra's domain and even the 'ordered chaos' that made up the Swedish weaponsmith.

As per protocol, the young adult donned one of the yellow hard hats by the lockers, followed by gloves, goggles and ear plugs to cancel out the incredible racket of the work. Bastion, who seemed to follow by example, placed a hat on it's head too, though the goggles fell off without ears to balance on, the gloves were not particularly suited for his sub-machine gun.

Hana held up her hand, and it took a moment for Bastion to process that she meant to wait, and halted where he stood. She cleared her throat, clasped her hands and mustered up in the most sweetest voice she could;

"Torby!" she yelled as loud as she could, all pretence of sweetness gone. "Your favourite niece has come to visit!"

A moment passed, and the sound that could be best described as a pneumatic drill crossed with a saw subsided; replaced with the much more manageable clanking of a hammer smashing against metal. The man in question did not even emerge from his work.

"Fer the last time, I am not putting _googly eyes_ on my turrets!" he shouted back, grumbling additionally in Swedish before switching back. "My machines are sensible things, unlike that beautiful piece of mechanic work you **ruined** with your silly rabbits."

"Hey! We can customize our MEKA as much as we like!" argued the teen, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, mainly because he could not see it. Briefly, she tossed a glance towards Bastion who was still patiently waiting, interested in the various milling engineers on the catwalks that were regarding the two with mild intrigue.

Regardless, she shook her head and forced the brewing annoyance aside with a huff, making sure a smile was plastered on her lips before starting once more, this time stepping closer to his workstation. His welding mask was down as he was working on a piece of machinery that looked like scrap to her, clawed appendage delicately tightening one of the many rivets that lined the metal.

"I'm not here about that anyway," said Hana. "I want you to help me build something for Bastion."

Had Torbjörn been less of a professional, he would have stumbled and spluttered, disgruntled at the mere notion of building something for an Omnic, if that something was not a turret or a compactor to destroy the blasted thing. He stopped his work completely to slowly raise the mask and revealed a very stern and serious glare directed at the innocently pleading Korean teen. It did not get him to falter or back down.

"I am not helping that Omnic, young lady." he told her in a tone that broke no argument. Hana winced at just how much he sounded like Morrison when he was scolding her. "No amount of grovelling will get me to do otherwise – and it better not be in _my_ workshop, either, or I will introduce it to a concept I like to call an _expiration date_!"

Subtly, she shuffled within Torbjörn's line of sight so he would not see the unit that was more or less statuesque a few paces behind her, thankfully hidden from the Swedish dwarf's view due to the wall that separated the pathway to the workstations themselves. Her hands came to her hips, trying to channel some kind of authoritative persona, though it sadly came across as petulant and childish. Persuading him would be difficult, if not impossible.

"What if.." she started, slowly. ".. What if, I let you peek under the hood of my MEKA? Would you do it then?" A part of her did not know why she was going such lengths for anyone, let alone _Bastion_ – perhaps a part of her felt guilty the way the unit was treated within Overwatch. Or maybe the organization was softening up her callous online identity that had more or less captured her life from her time in the Korean army. It wasn't that long ago she was considered _merciless._

The engineer stalled. Now, that was quite a good move on her part. He had always wanted to check out the Korea's impressively mobile piece of work, though after he denied them the weapons they desired, mainly because he wanted nothing more to do with that kind of work, the country had been vehement against letting him look at the blueprints. He told the diplomat straight in their face that they were acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum – a comment that was not well received.

" _Och_ , did you learn how to bargain from McCree?" he tutted. "I knew that boy is nothing but bad influences. Next he'll probably try and get you a tattoo, too."

Hana's face darkened a shade red, because it had been McCree who suggested to try her hand at bargaining, as cute pouts and gentle words could only get one so far. Of course, she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not – he was always grinning and puffing on that cigar of his. "I – I can think for myself, you know!"

"The answer's still no, lass. As much as I want to see your mech, I will never do anything for an Omnic." told Torbjörn. "Now get going before I have Morrison breathing down my neck about how the workshop is ' _unsuitable for children_ '."

The redness grew, though it was not from embarrassment, but rather anger. Her dainty hands balled into fists and her brows dipped harshly as a true scowl draped across her. She breathed in deeply, as if to shout, though only exhaled noisily through her nose and stomped off without another word, tugging on Bastion's arm to make it follow. It regarded Hana carefully, beeping softly as it had no idea how to comfort her growing, sour mood.

Along the way, Hana made sure to kick a couple of gears and metal bits that were in the way, grabbing the hard hat and throwing it. The physical actions did provide minor satisfaction, but further venting would have to wait. Shooting up the training range in her MEKA was always a good way to get rid of tension.

"This was a stupid idea." she murmured harshly, more to herself than to Bastion. "Why did I even bother? Ugh."

"Your first problem was believing you could rely on Torbjörn for anything relating to an Omnic." a heavily accented voice cut her self-pitying with such surgical accuracy it made her halt and stare up at the owner, brief shame flickering through her eyes. "Your second one was believing you could rely on Torbjörn, _period._ "

"Miss Vaswani," addressed the teen with an inkling of modesty, head bowing just a fraction. Hana had nothing but the utmost respect for the Indian woman, and was highly curious of the hard-light manipulation she could achieve. She reminded her strongly of her former tutor – a woman who was stern, strict, yet earned the respect she deserved. As such, it was almost second nature for the younger female to hold her in high esteem.

Symmetra always appeared as if she was looking down upon the person she was speaking to, even if that said person was taller, and towards Dva was no exception. She wore her own sort of protection rather than the garish yellow hard hats – the light blue that seemed to shimmer around her indicated some kind of shield.

"Did you.. hear about my request?" the professional gamer asked, hesitant, almost. It was strangely endearing, though only the Vishkar representative was privy to such a moment. Symmetra was never really the one to see herself as imposing, though she could understand how she might come across as such, with her mastery over hard-light and position in the corporation.

"Of course." the older woman confirmed, gaze lancing through her like she was undergoing some kind of examination. "Lindholm's immovable stubbornness is detrimental to our line of work. No, I prefer a more.. progressive approach towards creation."

She paused for a moment, then said gentler; "Though I have never worked on an Omnic, and my line of work is more akin to.. hmm.. _architecture._ If I had the blueprints, I could create your dream into a reality, without them it will remain as a vision."

Hana had to hold back the urge to bounce up and down in happiness over the woman's words, half-expecting her to dismiss her desires as something petty or make some side comment about Bastion itself. She sobered up quickly when she realised she didn't have any kind of blueprints or foundations for Satya to work on, only the concept. She groaned, briefly running a hand through her hair and messing the usually straight fringe up.

"I'm not some kind of computer scientist." she grimaced. "I don't have anything written up. I wouldn't know the first place to start."

Hana was beginning to lose hope that she'd be able to get a voice box for Bastion in the first place. What started off as a neat little idea full of potential was ending up needlessly complex as obstacle after obstacle was thrown in the way. Symmetra perked a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

"Like with every building, you start with the foundation." she informed. "Have you considered asking Winston for assistance? An animal he may be, but even I cannot deny his scientific capabilities."

The teen gaped.

"Symmetra! You are a genius!" The compliment took the Vishkar representative off guard, gaze flicking elsewhere in modesty before her usual cool composure was regained, brushing the effect it had off with a pompous disregard.

"Naturally." Further bafflement came from Hana taking a hold of her fleshy hand, as well as Bastion's arm, attempting to run off with them in the direction of Winston's lab. The grin on her face was priceless, but Satya couldn't argue that it wasn't adorable on her. It was nice to see the teen anything other than cocky and disrespectful, or perhaps her initial analysis of her had been.. mistaken. An easily rectifiable mistake, nevertheless.

"Come on! The Symmetra-Winston scientific collab the world didn't know it was asking for! This is gonna be a blast!" cheered Hana.

 _This was certainly going to be a new experience_ , thought Symmetra, letting the Korean guide her.


	32. Reflect

**Title:** Reflect **  
**

 **Characters** : Ana Amari, Reaper.

* * *

It had been a week since Lena's so called _interrogation_ of Reaper, and each visit was just as unrewarding as the last. Jack's attempts often fell victim to bringing up petty grudges and past arguments that the former Blackwatch commander was all too willing to fuel and focus on, Tracer had suspiciously stopped showing an interest in the proceedings, and McCree..

The old westerner had admitted to Ana that if he even set foot into the cell, he would not be responsible for his actions. He made it plainly clear if given the chance, he would finish what they started and kill the shell of a man that Reaper was. The Egyptian sharpshooter herself had yet to take a crack at it.

She was in charge of overseeing the recordings of each session and to note down anything integral. So far, her notepad remained blank save for various dates and headings. With a drawn-out sigh, she brought up a playback of Tracer's attempt.

Her blood ran cold. A tempered fury that was like liquid fire spread through her veins as she sat, perfectly still, single eye stonily staring at the proceeding. She even repeated the key discussion to make sure she had heard every single word correctly, her gaze never left Lena's face, watching the exact moment, the exact _second_ when her heart broke and that flicker of complete affliction of dejection crossed her and all of her hopes and dreams were torn, before being replaced by a unknown emotion for her: hatred.

Even with her keen instincts she could not tell if Reaper was merely lying to crush his opponent or was telling the truth. Her knowledge on the man before he became what he was indicated the former. Many times she had to remind Jack that his former _best friend_ was not a monster, and underwent the same level of stress and pressure as he did. But what he is now? It was impossible to tell.

A cruel, humourless smirk toyed with the older woman's lips. She had warned Reyes multiple times – _**multiple**_ times, that she would be more than willing to turn a blind eye to his dalliances with Lena, as bad of her as that was, so long as she or anyone did not get hurt. He always held her advice in high regard, but ever since she became Morrison's second-in-command, he became far more flippant and disrespectful to her, as if the friendship they had meant nothing.

For the woman's sake, Ana deleted the recording. Jack did not need confirmation on his theories regarding those two, lest he wanted to get a heart attack or, more probable, drag Tracer through the mud. Naturally the blame will shift from her to Gabriel, as he believed he should have known better, even ignoring Ana's casual reminder that it took _two_ to tango. She liked to remain a neutral party, and knew from Tracer's expression and reaction that Gabriel's advances hadn't been unreciprocated back in the day.

The old veteran was hardly surprised, in any case. One did not become a sniper without being receptive to the world around them, and she kept a close eye on the development of Jack and Gabriel's cold war, more so when Jesse and Lena became a piece in the grand chess game. That's what it was, at the end of the day. The two commanders playing the other members like pawns to one up the other.

And she.. well, she didn't do _anything_ , did she.

Ana sighed deeply. That was a harsh generalization – she desperately, ever so desperately tried to stop the two from fighting, but it was a losing battle the moment Jack got his position over Reyes. The better thing to do was to stay away from the crossfire and save herself the heartache. She was never one to be a front line soldier, after all.

A part of her wondered when did she become so bitterly callous to the tragedy of their broken friendship that she started believing that not getting personally involved was the correct choice. She had other things to worry about – Fareeha, for one. Ana testily reminded herself that she already had one child back then, she didn't need two more to babysit on top of caring for Jesse and Lena in the background.

The elder woman slowly glanced towards the monitor that displayed the cell where the source of all their problems resided. He surprisingly had a lid on his anger, which meant he did take those anger management classes she jokingly referred him to go for, or he had a plan. The likelihood of the latter caused her face to pinch and a calculated mask to capture her face.

Worryingly, his arm had nearly fully regenerated, as well. There was only a moderate exit wound from where the twin clips of Tracer's pulse pistols had unloaded into him, with black smoky mist pouring out of it like creeping fog. It pooled to the bottom of his armoured, heavy boots, curling around him like a second shroud.

"I warned you, Gabriel." she muttered to herself, and got ready to confront the devil.

* * *

Reaper did not even look towards the sniper when she entered, though she could tell that he was very alert to her presence the moment she stepped foot inside. He remained in his seat, reclining lazily upon it with his good arm slung over the back. He finally tilted his head towards the old woman, and she was reminded distinctly of a barn owl observing their prey. She gave no warning when she tossed a cheaply branded beer can to the table and let it slide towards him, grinning ruefully at his sudden alertness.

He relaxed immediately after, unfurling his arms and toying with the rim of the can with a talon. "Really, Ana." his tone dipped in a way that sounded like he was _scolding_ her _._ "You can't bribe me as easily as you can Morrison."

She laughed genuinely. It was a soft, tinkling sound with the laugh lines that graced the corners of her mouth and eyes, causing them to crease and wrinkle. Reaper was unsure what he was expecting, but the fact that his hand retracted away from the beer can suggested that mirth, so freely given despite the situation, was not one of them.

"Old habits." Amari senior shrugged. "Just like us old soldiers, they tend to take a lot to kill off."

"You know I can't drink this." he flatly stated, far more serious as if to try and squash her good mood. He fidgeted just barely enough for her keen eyes to pick up the fact he was uncomfortable that she was in high spirits, and he would like to demolish that. Ana slipped into the seat opposite him, casually bring up one of her legs to ease into one of her more awkward, yet comfortable sitting positions, and pinned him with a gaze that belayed the fury and bitterness within.

"I know." she cheerfully agreed, tone thick with contempt. "Hmm.. I suppose it would be **_amusing_** to watch you try. Wouldn't you agree?"

Reaper stiffened, then scoffed. So that's what it was about – she had seen the recording. He remained unperturbed to the oncoming onslaught that she was undoubtedly about to unleash. Reyes had only briefly became acquainted with her legendary temper when Jesse lost his arm, and it had been as if she channelled fire incarnate. He was not intimidated or cowed, but he was certainly _chastened_ by the experience.

But he was not one to let himself be drawn in for a kill, and cut to the chase before she could.

"I thought I had made it clear to stop involving yourself in my affairs. I should have known you would only take orders if _Morrison_ barked them, like a dog to her master. I wonder, did he teach you any tricks, too?" He sounded disgusted with her.

She mimicked the smirk that contained the intense, wild, white-hot anger from viewing the recording, and entwined her fingers to create a bridge to rest her chin upon. An unnerving action that served to cause Gabriel to narrow his eyes behind his mask. He was getting slightly testy as to what she may do.

"And I thought I told you quite plainly what would happen if I ever found out your hurt my children." she said simply, the jab regarding Jack doing little to effect her. "And you hurt _all three_."

He had rolled his eyes so dramatically she even noticed the way his head twitched, seemingly branding the old woman's words as speaking in threats, to which was as useful as trying to get a conversation out of a brick wall. At least he thought that they didn't, even if his own hatred was beginning to seep into his tone and his talons curled into a sharp fist.

"You have no right to get up on some moral high horse, Ana, as you _always_ do. McCree, Oxton and Pharah are hardly _children -_ and two of them are not even yours! Are you really going to mollycoddle them even to this day? If that's what you are doing, you are just as much a problem to them as **_I_** was – "

That's as far as he got in his tirade before she pulled her smaller dart gun with such quick reflexes even Jesse would whistle at the draw and shot Reaper with a dart full of blue liquid. He grunted as it pierced his neck, quickly grabbing it and ripping it off, but all of it had already been administered. Although he crushed the small glass dart in his claws, he could already feel his movements and body becoming sluggish instantanously. His vision skewered for a brief moment, and against his will the weight of his limbs and armour were beginning to drag him down.

"What did you _**do.**_ " he hissed sharply, trying not to let the fact he was steadying himself on the table was showing bother him. Even the mist that seemed to enshroud him gradually slowed down and dispersed all together, leaving his gaping wound to show. What was worse, is that his gradually decaying and renewing cells were not working at their rapid rate, making his state of necrosis a little bit more noticeable in his limp arm, partially hidden admist all the black leather to cover it. All the work that had been done over the week seemed to be undoing itself, and he really was tempted to just pull the damn arm off.

And the _pain_. God, he was in agony. His talons all but pierced the plastic of the table, his vision blurring as he could only recognize the daunting, steely face of the older Egyptian coolly regarding him with a dark glint of disinterest as he suffered silently. His breathing was a little more ragged and heavy, and the last thing he wanted to do was collapse, forcing himself to partially lurch onto the table and look like he wanted to murder her. He even looked like he was trying to find a way to get over or around the table to strangle her, but his legs were decidedly not co-operating

"I hit you with a tranquillizer." she readily explained, that smirk remaining. "Well, sort of. I doctored it to act a little.. _differently._ To keep you aware of your body slowing and calming down, but, given your unique condition it's doing more harm than good. I will be sure to note that down for future use."

Her gaze cut across to his hanging arm, then. "Hm, we should really amputate that. My sweet Jesse would find quite the cruel irony into it, that's for sure. He might even volunteer."

He made no response as he focused entirely on not looking foolish as hunched over as he was, the involuntary drug that pumped through him should wear off soon, then he would see about who was in control of the situation. For now, he could only watch like a caged animal as she stood up neatly from her chair, made her way around to him and nonchalantly kicked his chair to the floor, and him along with it.

He growled gutturally in his throat, the pain of the fall outclassed by the sheer torture of how his insides felt on fire and numbness needled his legs, feet and thighs like a thousand pins. Ana crouched down in front of his mask, kicking him a little so he was on his back and could look up to her, and made no hesitation to flip his mask up and stare him straight into his lifeless eyes. The only saving grace was her position obscured his face from the recording camera's view.

"Look at what you've become, Gabriel." she scorned. All pretence of hiding her anger was gone – the fires of Hell seemed to reside in her good eye. Unlike Lena, she did not kick or scream or cry about it, no. She was calm, surgical, and a force to be reckoned with. She noted the manic look in his eyes as his body twitched in desperation to move and struggle, likely to swipe at her or to hide his revolting face. It looked worse than the first time she had seen under it; decaying bits of flesh leftover from the explosion and forever scarred with burnt muscle tissue and trailing smoky wisps of black fog escaping from the pours of his skin.

"What you are feeling now is but a physical representation of heartbreak, as I'm sure you have no understanding of." she continued tersely, her accent bleeding out heavily into her voice as she harnessed the years worth of rage. "Now, perhaps I can move on to teaching you how it feels to be tormented over the loss of someone, as you did to Fareeha."

"Get.. away from me.." He wanted nothing more than to retreat into his wraith form to regain his composure and then to slaughter her, but the feeling of helplessness overcame him once again and his wretched hatred grew tenfold. Reaper needed some way to reassert some kind of dominance, and so he forcefully laughed, the sound coming like he was retching it out his body, a furious look intermingled with utter repulsion tugging on the sinews of his flesh.

It did shake Ana up mildly, with a tilt of her head, observing him cackle. She would not allow him to gain the upper hand by shaking her will and rolled on the balls of her feet and perking an eyebrow, lips drawn into a disinterested frown at his attempts.

"You are no different .. to what I am. Look at what I've become? Look at _**you**_." Despite the pain, the anguish and vulnerability he still managed to viciously pull a twisted grin, which she could see in all it's sick glory. The way it pulled the rotten muscles on his face did little to settle her stomach, but she was well versed with corpses, being of a medical background like Angela. Just.. not the ones that could _talk_ as Reaper could – he was an abomination of all things that were living, at this point.

"Do you enjoy gloating over your enemies, Ana?" he asked.

"Does it _satisfy_ you to be in position you're in? Who knew that behind such a _kindly-_ " he punctuated the word with spitting venom, "- exterior existed a loathing, sour soldier. You're going down the exact same path I did except you're _aware_ of it, aren't you? Are you going to embrace the inevitability of what you will become or fight a losing battle?"

Ana knew that Reyes was merely trying to bait her into thinking that they were similar, and that she should feel guilty for her actions or who she was. A smaller, hidden away part of her was torn - absolutely aggrieved that some of his words rang true, even if she desperately tried not to let his psychological warfare play with her mind. She felt nauseous standing over his leering face, but she remained steadfast out of principal. It didn't matter what she felt - he hurt her child, he hurt the two whom she cared for like parent and she would not let him get away with it.

The older woman tried to remind herself that she was nothing like Gabriel. Perhaps they had some similarities in the distand past - sharing the same dry humour and wit, the love of spicy food; common things. But she would not stand to be compared to the vile creature before her. Her eye narrowed, and she inched just that bit closer to show she was not intimidated by him, his condition, or his words.

"The difference between you and I, Gabriel." she finally responded to his bait. "Is that what I do is for all of the people you have wronged, rather than for **_attention_** or recognition. Perhaps they would not accept my methods, true.. but I doubt you gave any of your victims a choice when you killed them."

She noticed his look of hypocrisy, and added sadly; "I've never said that it makes me a _better_ person. You know I've never even considered _myself_ a good person, despite what Fareeha, Jack and all the rest of them say. But I don't _need_ to be to create a better future for those who are good people."

"It's only a matter of time before your callousness overtakes you, and you'll end up nothing more than an angry, lonely old woman, pushing everyone away when you're desperately trying to keep ahold of them. You'll realise that there are no such things as _'good deserving people_ '" he was bitter, and tired of her speeches and still in so much pain. Reyes had little idea if the drug was still pumping in him, other than the creeping coldness of his limbs and a numbing sensation that dwarfed the poultry pins and needles.

He flinched harshly when a gentle hand came to caress the cheek that had enough flesh left for her to do so, thumb grazing ever so softly against the blackened, taut skin. His lips pulled back to reveal bloodied teeth as he snarled at the nerve of her touching him, especially so caringly that he couldn't dissassociate the feeling that she was **pitying** him. For a moment, all her anger was set aside for a single solitary look of sorrow – for him and for herself, before the cool brimming wrath returned.

"Perhaps." she said. There was nothing else she could say on the matter – at least, nothing she wanted to admit to Gabriel right now. The conversation had been too heavy, too emotionally invested and she was beginning to feel a little drained from being so captured by anger. His struggling became more apparent when he tried to writhe away from her when she brought the dart gun up to his neck, what little control he had left of his body tensing up. He realised his actions, calmed down and stared her straight into the face, urging (silently pleading) for her to get it over with.

"I've made you suffer enough." This time, the dart contained the correct dose and chemicals, and she noted the immediate relaxation in what little muscles remained in his face before she knocked him out completely with the sleeping dart. Lightly, she dragged his mask down and slipped his good arm around her shoulder, hauling him up with some difficulty and depositing him back onto the fallen chair which she nudged back up with her foot.

A few adjustments and she slotted a makeshift pillow in his arms rolled up from her trench coat so that he didn't have cramp in his neck when he awoke ( old habits really do die hard ) and left the cell sombre. Ana paused, returning to the control booth and made sure to delete the recording.

She halted whe she felt something wet drip on her hand, and hurriedly realised that she had been shedding tears. Hastily she wiped at her face, though she did not scorn herself for the action. Reyes may be able to forget the past when it suited him, but she couldn't. Confronting Gabriel the way she had was the second most hardest thing she had to do, beaten by keeping herself hidden and out of Fareeha's life. Even then, she wondered who truly had the upper hand. He was completely under her mercy yet still managed to accurately assess her, as he always had.

She made sure she was completely composed before leaving the detention block, face neutral as she passed personnel and agents alike, whom had no idea what she had done just moments prior. Ana decided in that moment that Fareeha, Lena and Jesse are overdue for the biggest hug she could muster.

Maybe even Jack, too, because she sure could use one.

* * *

 _ **Note** : WHOA Okay, this got dark. WELCOME TO REAPER SHOW PART 2 WHERE ANA GIVES REYES A LONG AWAITED SLAMDUNK_

 _Basically the effect it had on Reaper - you know how in the game, you get hit by Ana's sleep dart and you can still see everything around you as you are helpless to move your body even with your enemies looming over you? I mean, you can see the utter frustration Dva has waggling the control sticks of her sleeping MEKA. That's some pretty Nightmare Fuel level of possibilities. Ana more or less put his body to sleep but kept his mind awake and given the condition Reaper has made it hell for him._

 _I know the comic "Old Soldier's" shows Reaper casually unaffected by the dart, but with the way I HC his condition, it's a kind of, depends on the status of his cells. The more decayed he is, the easier to tap into his """powers"""" like Wraith form. As he's been out of a firefight for quite a while, he's had plenty of time to just sit and regenerate.  
_

 _This is probably the chapter that has gone through the most dialogue revisions because I've been hesitant to post this one. I'm stoked to be able to get my hands dirty with how ugly and twisted Reaper has become but I feel I might've made him a little too helpless in this scenario, especially considering he got captured in the first place so I don't think I'm doing his combat expertise any justice. I'll try to amend that, just bear with me ;)_


	33. Regiment

**Title:** Regiment

 **Characters** : Zarya, (Tracer, Winston.)

* * *

War was brewing over the horizon.

It was already at Russia's doorstep, with causalities up to 15,000 people. Thugs and lowlife degenerates run rampant in the streets – it wasn't uncommon to see a couple of juveniles leering over a beaten Omnic or littering the factory walls and industrial metal with slurs in brightly coloured sprays. Shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter and refuse service to the robotic humanoids, and any human caught sympathizing were quickly strung up as part of the problem and ostracised.

On the other hand, towards more underdeveloped villages and towns overshadowed by the huge cities, Omnics were able to run rampant. It was becoming a gruesomely common sight to witness rubble and ruin of buildings amidst bomb shell casings and the screaming of fighter jets overhead. There was the ever present fear of the unknown – was it friend or foe? Would the next drop be a bomb or a care package?

Encompassing the country was a growing icy winter that served to only emphasise the coldness and reality of the situation. Those who had the foresight to plan ahead were still caught unawares by the disruption the war was bringing; gridlocks were common, evacuation notices overpopulated some areas with refugees. The chilling saving grace was the bolts and pieces of metal that made up the remnants of the battlefield made it hard for the snow to settle.

The situation had not improved much since Zarya's departure. She had taken up the call to arms when the Omnics first hit within the dubbed 'second crisis', and had defended her hometown admirably. She had given up everything to be the hero the people needed – her personal glory, her status as a celebrity athlete, her time all devoted to the cause.

Overwatch had noticed her abilities and offered her a position. She had accepted only after the various factories and armies returned back into commission and began training and recruiting new soldiers. She felt safe knowing that her motherland would be well protected, and knew her strength could be used elsewhere where areas were less fortunate.

The fact that she now stood in the snow, thick protective goggles sheltering her eyes and the shock of pink hair covered by a huge, fluffy parka hat proved to her that her original assessment had been wrong. She returned, once more, to defend her country.

She had expected Winston and Overwatch to provide more assistance than they had. Her frozen lips tugged deeply in a disappointed frown – he had, shamefully, admitted that the organization did not have the credence it once did, and could not respond to Russia's situation _officially_. As before when the first crisis hit, Zarya knew her homeland would vehemently deny assistance from anyone, Overwatch or otherwise, in some stubborn, misbegotten pride that they can handle it themselves, borne from the fact they steadfastly held their own the first time around.

But it wasn't like the first time. The peacetime had gave way to leniency, the Omnics had the pre-emptive strike and the factories were working overtime to meet the demand of the soldiers. Weapons were distributed in quantity but lacked the quality that it once did, recruits were younger than she ever remembered. Her heart lurched when she caught sight of a handful of young teens – around eighteen or nineteen, no older than Hana Song - brandishing the Russian coat of arms.

It did make her appreciate her particle cannon all that more, the familiar weight straining her arms. She shifted the weapon in her gloved hands, readjusting it. Her gaze stretched out the snowy, desolate landscape, but knew it was merely just the calm before the storm. They – her and a small squadron that had unofficially made her leader of – had just pushed back a recent attack in the little village of nowhere, and suspected a second one was imminent.

They were currently hunkering down in the village centre as the northern entrance had been reduced to nothing more than a large opening, with huts caved in and various brick, stone and metal half-buried in the snow. The western and southern entrances were far more well equipped and defended as the roads more travelled lead towards the more populated areas. Zarya spotted several of her men scattered by makeshift barricades made out of the ravaged buildings, all decked out in the traditional Russian army uniform with additional articles of clothing to combat the weather.

She didn't risk looking back, but she also knew that there were two sharpshooters posted on top of the village hall. They had radioed several times for supplies, especially something that was better equipped to take down air crafts, though the skies remained deadly still for now. Likely, the jets had been directed elsewhere where their fire power was more optimally and efficiently suitable.

" _Там_!" a female front-line soldier exclaimed, raising her cheap light pulse rifle, with many following suit, Zarya included. The once star athlete spotted figures dotting the horizon – what started as one, became two, then ten, then fifty, until the entire section was blanketed with foreboding darkness illuminated with blue, sinister lights that adorned the various robots.

They were outnumbered.

 _But not outskilled_ , the Overwatch agent thought, storming to the front and inspiring the soldiers around her as the tip of her cannon pointed defiantly towards the mass of Omnics that were slowly advancing. The energy that coalesced in her cannon arced through the metal casings and up her arm – it was a welcome, tingly jolt of electricity that felt more like pumping adrenaline than pain – and into the energy reserves of her suit, which more or less acted like conductors so she did not fry herself.

The cannon's muzzle shifted a little and she angled the weapon to arc an explosive charge that sailed through the air and made the first strike, scattering the front-line in a burst of pink blue and black gravitational energy, followed by the piercing thin bullets of the sharpshooters from the rooftops. All it served to do was to paint the snow grey with the metallic bodies. The calm broke, the Omnics charged and the battle begun, with Zarya's voice raising high over the sounds of war to boost morale;

" _Вместе мы сила_!"

* * *

The battle for the village felt more like outlasting a siege, as by the third day, supplies were dangerously low, soldiers were tired, hungry and prone to making more mistakes. The Omnics seemed to be endless, but they had yet to breach into the central area properly before they were gunned down. There had already been a few fumbling attempts and misfires from some of the men which broke heated, testy arguing over communications.

Zarya was always the one to put her foot down in those situations, barking orders left and right. She felt little of the physical effects as the high energy that coursed through her and her weapon kept her alert, though it was beginning to become quite mentally exhausting; like a continuous sprint for her mind that showed no sign of stopping.

Salvation had came in the form of a small care package when one of the signals had finally been picked up by the commander centre. They sent ammunition, turrets that took little effort to build up that very suspiciously had similar design and blueprint to a certain Swedish engineer's – unsurprising, it bore the symbol of the Ironclad Guild – and rations to distribute. Although, it was very daunting to have to sift through what was essentially corpses even if they were purely of metal. She hadn't been the first to think such a thing, and some of the more newer recruits turned green at the prospect, almost thankful that they were killing robots and not humans. The thought of the bloodied battlefield churned their stomachs.

A moment of respite rested heavily on the shoulders of the worn out soldiers as the seemingly infinite stream of enemies stopped for a moment. All of them could not find the will to relax, as they believed the worse yet was just about to come. Zarya dropped her particle cannon suddenly, grunting as she fell to one knee, the fatigue hitting her weight bearing joints like insidious pins and needles, energy sparking out of her suit's reserves like miniature lightning storms.

The soldier nearest to her gave a startled noise; rushing to her side and muttering lowly in Russian their concerns. The pink-haired agent flashed a weak but solid smile, waving them off and dusting her hands.

" _Все будет хорошо_." she assured them, but accepted the offered hand all the same. They jumped as the residue energy partially jumped from Zarya to them. In the end, they laughed nervously, both in attempt to still their nerves and at the slight shock. Steeling herself, she hefted her cannon back up and peered out towards the front.

Inwardly she grimaced when she noticed a larger than average Omnic head towards the village, though she forced her trepidation not to show; masking it with a determined, flinty look and courageous grin. It was oddly designed; bigger than a Bastion unit and dwarfing the more humanoid one, but certainly smaller than the infamous ' _Titan'_ class – it seemed to be in the middle of light and heavy infantry.

Thoughts of what it could be would have to wait as rockets rained from the mounted shoulders of the unit. Zarya growled out a command to get to cover, harnessing the energy of her suit into a particle barrier that efficiently turned the explosions into storable power for her. She noticed a soldier trying to run to the makeshift barricade but stumble over a piece of metal that had been blanketed completely by the snow, and hurriedly projected the barrier from her to him, saving his life.

He had no time to stop and thank her, but Zarya could hear his mumbling gratitude over the communications channel, before it was quickly drowned out by a hail of bullets from the Omnic's machine gun.

The pink-haired soldier charged forth, sacrificing the damage of her cannon for defence as she maintained a barrier on herself to make the Omnic focus firing on her, utilizing the rest of the stored energy into a thick beam that connected into the gut of the unit. She saw the metal surrounding the beam heat up and the paint begin to sear off, but it wasn't doing much to actually hurt it.

It momentarily stopped firing it's machine gun when it wizened up to the fact it was feeding into the cycle of her energy and instead reared up and smashed into the bubble. It sent Zarya flying, hitting back up onto the rooftops with the sharpshooters who were desperately trying to pierce the armour and failing. Thankfully her barrier absorbed the lethality of the blow, but it did not stop the shock of it, and her ears were ringing, grip loosening on her cannon as she was forced to drop it. Her barrier followed suit.

She had to fight. She - _had_ \- to. The soldiers were counting on her. _Russia_ was counting on her!

Zarya grit her teeth, the ringing nothing but white noise in her ears and the back of her mind as she lifted her weapon, recharging it back with it's source of ammunition, before running forth, jumping off of the rooftop and landing a clean explosive charge directly into the neck of the Omnic.

That seemed to have a bit more effect, it stumbling as smoke billowed from the wound, the area now exposed for the snipers to take a few damaging shots with. Bullets continued to pelt at it's exterior with seemingly little effect, however, and Aleksandra bore witness, in all it's horror, the Omnic stampeding forth, crushing a man underfoot, missing her only due to it's gait and smashing straight into the village hall building.

" _Нет!_ " she said involuntarily, trying to create a barrier just in time to save at least one of the snipers as they came crashing down along with the building, but failed as she could not make out their small figures amidst the chaos. If they were not dead, then they would likely be critically injured from the fall. Calls for emergency medical evacuations had already sounded out way before it left her lips, and she had to focus on the Omnic lest she wanted to join her fallen brethren.

Anguish filtered through the communications channel as the distinct whistling of the air being ripped by fighter jets deafened the heavy machinery, gun fire and the large Omnic untangling itself from the devastation. Zarya's brows furrowed. This would be their last stand – they could not surrender or run away, as the Omnics would merely continue to advance.

Yet the missiles that fired from the jets did not target the soldiers, but instead the Omnic. A noticeable gap in the unit's chassis became apparent when the missile landed, and it thundered back against the village hall once more, shrapnel slicing into the layered snow and embedding into the walls.

Happiness was sounding all around, although they could not stop and celebrate for long as they had to return to cover from the Omnic's counter attack. The jet expertly weaved out of the shots, rolled back around for round two of barraging the beast of a machine with heat-seeking justice before slipping past as it's own rockets fired forth. A larger aircraft – resembling some kind of dropship – flew by and the sky was dotted with falling figures.

"Cheers, love!" the communication channel sprung into life with additional voices as more agents joined in, the comment relating to the pilot of the dropship, then addressed to the soldiers. "The cavalry's here! Wait, how do you say that in Russian?"

" _подкрепление_!" Zarya happily said. It wasn't the exact idiom that Tracer meant, but it more or less meant the same.

"Bless you, love! You getting a cold?" cheekily responded the woman as she disengaged the parachute, making a grand show of flipping in the air and giving a salute before her chronal accelerator whirred up and she blinked right up into the Omnic's face, filling it with a multitude of bullets. By the time it reacted and tried to swipe her off it's face, she had already placed a boot against it's visor and jumped off, making sure to keep her aim on the robot as she fell and shot.

"Winston! Gonna have a bit of a crash landing here!" Tracer yelled, though she needn't bothered. By the time Winston had cut his own parachute and begun to leap to catch the woman, Zarya had sprung into action and shot forth a barrier that captured Lena, making the fall feel like she was bouncing around a huge bubble.

"Whoa! Feel like I just stuck my finger into the socket of a plug!" she cleared her throat. "Not that I.. know what that feels like. I mean -"

"Less banter, Tracer!" the gorilla urged, the electricity of his Telsa cannon zapping into the Omnic, which was trying to process all the additional targets as the lightning was causing several of it's smaller, redundant subsystems to pull up errors or go offline entirely, losing minor functions in the process.

"Right!"

"The Omnic – It is weak to explosives and energy!" informed Zarya as the two agents joined the woman on the battlefield. When speaking Russian, her voice was smooth and natural, yet couldn't help but feel her accent butchered the English into something more heavy. They understood all the same, even if the soldiers in the squadron didn't speak a lick of English.

They were forced to scatter when the Omnic tried to swipe at them once more – Winston's attack must have taken some of it's weapon systems offline, but the battle was drawn at an impasse as their bullets did little effect and the robot was too slow to catch slippery targets like Tracer, or penetrate the particle barriers Zarya produced.

"Explosives and energy?" repeated Lena, twirling her twin pistols as she reloaded, then shot Zarya a charming grin when it dawned on her. "Google asks, did you mean _Pulse Bombs_?"

"Tracer, if you're thinking what I know you're thinking.." warned Winston, rolling out of a narrow swing from the Omnic.

It only took two blinks from her sprint to avoid the gargantuan machine and towards Aleksandra's side, but Lena's perky face only fell immediately after as she unclipped the pulse bomb from her accelerator and noticed the lack of humming blue power within the centre. She grimaced.

"Sorry love, looks like it's nowhere near charged yet. We gotta stall this thing for at least another five minutes or so." she hesitated. "Even then, it only goes about as far as I can throw it! Literally!"

Zarya swiped the device from the speedster's hand either way. "Energy is energy. This could work."

She had no idea if it would, but nevertheless set the bomb into the ball of coalesced energy, which immediately took to the object for a source of where the power could transfer to, changing the usual blue orb to a pinkish black. Within seconds the pulse bomb went from inert to fully charged, and Zarya had to make sure to direct the power to her suit lest she caused it to overload and explode prematurely.

"That was highly dangerous! You have no idea the effects –" the poor gorilla was cut off as he once again was forced into defence manoeuvres to avoid the Omnic, snorting angrily when it's fist came a little too close to comfort. By the spark in his eyes, he looked about ready to lose it, though regained composure swiftly when Aleksandra spoke;

"There is no time for that now, Winston! I need you to get me up that house!" she said, pointing towards one of the few standing buildings while offering another barrier for the target of the robot's aggression. "I shot open a point of exposure earlier, I can shoot the bomb in there!"

It was risky, and Winston didn't like risky. But he weighed his options, the futility of merely just shooting at the Omnic, and the fact that it would only be a matter of time before it's weapon systems were restored and resumed online. Plus, there were no signs of the fighter jets that were coming back to aid them, which could mean they had run out of missiles or they were engaged in aerial dog fighting.

He finally grunted in affirmation, ambling over to the soldier and gathering her up with ease, using his raw strength and his own armour's jets to launch him up into the air as Tracer provided a distraction for the Omnic, popping around various locations on it's frame. Winston landed with a bit of a thud, though he felt little shock go through the pads of his paws and very gently set Zarya down, as if worried he might have hurt her with the landing.

She flashed him a smile to show she was fine, then readied her cannon towards the robot's neck. Aleksandra only had one shot at this.

 _Russia is counting on you._ Her gaze briefly flickered to Winston who rejoined to protect Tracer, as well as the remaining Russian army squadron that were more or less hiding in cover and shooting when they could. _Overwatch is counting on you._

Letting go of her inhibitions, Zarya lined up her weapon and fired the pulse bomb in an arc.

Tense did not even begin to describe the feeling in her shoulders, watching the bomb attached to the charge sail through the air and land.. inside the hole that she had opened up earlier. Intense joy and relief exploded as quick as the detonation. Despite the euphoria, she hastily put up a barrier for herself and commanded her squad to take cover. Barely, she noticed Winston throw down his own projector down, beefy arms furling around Lena and sheltering her from the shrapnel that hailed down upon them like heavy rainfall.

The smoke was incredible, the noise was overwhelming and the groaning protest of the frame as it came timbering down and collapsed into a heap of scrap into the demolished village hall building, exploding into a series of electrical fires. The communication channel was full of nothing but coughing and hacking fits, and quickly the remaining soldiers had to evacuate, lest they wanted to fall in battle due to suffocation.

They rendezvous at the southern entrance where it was decidedly less deadly, and everyone burst into animated chatting of broken English for the agent's benefits or victory songs in Russian, though everyone seemed to share a collective slump as they could truly experience relaxation and relief. Many of them broke into nervous bubbly laughter and the back of Zarya's head bumped lightly against the wall, eyes closed, smiling serenely as the songs drifted from anthems about the motherland, to anthems about _her._

"That.. was.. _amazing_!" gaped Tracer, gripping a hold of Aleksandra and bobbing up and down. Her boundless energy was impressive.

"Tracer, let Zarya recover. She has been fighting non-stop for what must be three days now." chastised Winston, tugging the woman away from Zarya and shooting an apologetic look to her. Lena pouted, but otherwise complied with her friend's wishes. The Russian woman waved it off, too engulfed in the moment to speak at the moment.

Opening her eyes, she now tiredly regarded the gorilla with a questioning brow. Though she appreciated the backup and surely could not of protected the village without it, there were still unanswered questions that remained, and she voiced as such. What were they doing there? How did they find her?

Humbled, Winston cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses as was habit, and answered her.

"As you are a registered member of Overwatch, it took very little effort for Athena to track you." he started with first, then moved on bashfully. "As for, well, the other thing – It's a little too late for us to be following the rules, considering our very existence breaks them to begin with. Even if the paperwork when we get back is going to be.. a phenomenal headache."

"Not to worry, love!" Tracer piped in. "Zarya will just say she got helped by two mysterious soldiers that are totally not connected in Overwatch in anyway. Then we won't have Russia wagging it's finger at us. Right?"

"I will be saying no such thing," she rumbled. "Because first, we _all_ need a drink."

She repeated what she said in Russian for the benefit of her squad, which got them cheering even louder. In the back of her mind, she relished the victory, but knew it was merely one battle amidst the many that made up the war.

* * *

 _ **Note** : Some actiony kind of thing, ahh! Well, yeah. Here you go. Zarya is bae and also mentioned in Reinhardt and Widowmaker chapter that she had gone back to Russia. This is basically a semi sequel to that plotline. Also.. I'm sorry in advance about the Russian. I'll write what it's supposed to be, maybe someone who knows the language can see how badly i messed up xD_

 _Там! -_ There! _  
_

 _Вместе мы сила_! - Together we are strong!

 _Все будет хорошо_. - Everything will be fine / Everything will be all right.

 _Нет! -_ No! _  
_

 _подкрепление -_ Reinforcement/s (?) _  
_

 _\- Guixi_


	34. Rehearse

**Title:** Rehearse

 **Characters:** Soldier: 76, Hanzo, (Genji)

 _ **Note** : Request by Ashbringer36. This is a bit of a small one, because seriously the last few chapters have nearly breached 4k words. I might do a series of quick, very small ones for ideas that don't really have enough meat to make a full chapter with. Maybe it'll be like. Chapter 34.5 kind of deal. Who knows! _

_I'm fairly sure Soldier is harnessing all of his years of dealing with Ana's sass in this, because damn. He is unstoppable when he wants to be._

 _ **Rapid Fire Round go!** _

_\- Dva Pranking accepted, likely not **now** because I have a couple Dva related chapters in mind and shes starting to get the Mercy Treatment_

 _\- Mercy Treatment = character is becoming alarmingly overused_

 _\- Big Brother Winston having 'The Chat' with McCree accepted.. when or if it's suitable to have a chapter like that._

 _-Something Junkrat and Symmetra related accepted_

 _\- I might try and add another Tracer and Reaper interaction due to the amount of people actually wanting to see this. Question: Do you want to see **Reaper** (as in the Edgelord he is now) or **Gabriel** (our favourite latino Blackwatch commander)? Because that changes interactions a **lot**. - Guixi_

* * *

"Didn't anyone tell you not to bring a bow to a gunfight?"

The Japanese marksman did not let the comment deter him as the arrow notched in his bow drew back, string taut with tension before he released it. He need not have to follow it's path to know that it had landed into the head of the target dummy, the subsequent explosion being confirmation to his ears. It was now, that his grey coloured eyes glanced towards the owner of the gruff voice.

Soldier: 76 slammed down another round of heavy pulse ammunition into his rifle, his fingers deft and the actions surprisingly quick for a man of his age before filling the moving targets with the bullets, expending the clip. He was perhaps the most frequent visitor into the target range, not even including his time as Strike Commander. He grunted, apparently dissatisfied with something and noted down his aim, timing and other things he was keeping track on a device that was strangely bunny-themed.

Apparently Hana still had not learned of his little.. _incident_ when the shock of seeing Ana Amari after so many years in the flesh had caused him to break one of her pads, and was more than happy to loan him out electronic devices like candy. He didn't question where she got them from nor why she had so many, because it saved him money and the arduous task of choosing the 'right' device for him. This time, he hoped to be able to return this one intact, instead of a replacement.

Regardless of his rough tone, there was an underlining amusement that wavered in the inflections of his growling voice, and thus, Hanzo responded in turn.

"Has Miss Ling Zhou not chastised you for the amount of pulse emissions every time you fire that weapon?" he asked, lip curling in a (very convincing) display of superiority, relishing in the quick quirk of the Soldier's brow, catching him off guard.

He certainly didn't expect the former assassin to know of Mei's tendency to lecture about the environment, but given his love of all things natural he supposed it was only a matter of time. Soldier shuddered to think what a collaboration of the two would end up like, should they be so inclined. Thankfully, Hanzo much preferred to work solo, and Mei had admitted to him that the sniper intimidated her too much to hold a full conversation with.

Morrison barked a laugh that subsided almost as quickly as it came, and fired off a triplet of helix rockets that landed bullseye onto the target. He rose his rifle, letting it rest on his shoulder like it weighed nothing before half turning to regard the other, watching him switched to a serrated arrow that split into smaller, scattering parts and outdid his show of target practice in one single shot.

"Not bad." commended Jack. "But there's a reason technology advanced and archers went out of fashion."

"Human laziness, lack of dedication, patience and skill, and the rise of equipment to assist with aim, if I have to _guess._ " pointedly, Hanzo looked at Morrison's visor and gave an implying smirk. Usually, the bowman was somewhat awkward with small talk and chatting in general – forcing himself in isolation as part of the punishment for losing his honour certainly played a part in it. But when it came to talking about his archery and weaponry, he was somewhat in his element.

That, and he appreciated the gruff, no-nonsense attitude Soldier displayed. He was a frank man, and easy to talk to without fear that his brutal honesty would dent his thick, emotional hide.

Soldier rolled his shoulders, rifle resting neatly in his hands once more as he scoffed. "In a fight, it's not a matter of ' _honour_ ' or _playing fair._ If I got it, I'm gonna use it. The enemy sure as hell isn't going to follow by some code of chivalry."

"I think that is your excuse to hide the fact you cannot aim."

"And here I thought you were one of the more sensible ones, not another young punk." grumbled the veteran. Oh, if he was still strike commander, he would whip everyone into shape. The amount of insubordination was criminal, and everyone knew Winston, the unofficial leader, was too much of a pushover to do anything about it, unless it came to Tracer. That gorilla was one of the few able to keep that wild card in line, but anyone else?

He wished luck to them.

Still, his credibility was brought into question, and he wasn't about to let some archaic bowman that made even Reinhardt look young and modern put him to shame. He waited until Hanzo had safely let loose another arrow into the target dummy before crossing the range into his lane and shoving his pulse rifle into his line of sight. His gaze flickered to it briefly, questioning, salt-and-pepper speckled brows drawn to a furrow.

"I'd like to see you try using this, if it's apparently so easy to aim with." requested Soldier, a hidden smirk behind his visor. There was a reason his weapon was called a ' _heavy_ ' pulse rifle, after all.

Hanzo was not one to back down from a challenge, giving a short noise in the back of his throat as it was nothing more than child's play. The moment he shouldered his Storm Bow and took the rifle out of Jack's hands was he quickly rethinking that line of thought.

He subtly hid the fact that the rifle weighed a ton and was straining his upper arms, hefting it haphazardly to the position he observed Soldier to wield it. He didn't fire straight away, familiarizing himself where the trigger was, the safety, and not to have his hands anywhere near where the rockets come out of.

"I can show you how to fire it, if you want." teased the older man, arms folded and watching the former crime lord somehow manage to make inexperience look graceful. His reward was a short glare.

"This is nothing complex," he brushed him off. His family was not so stuck in the past that they hadn't at least had basic training – one could never be too prepared in an assassination that might require using the enemy's weapon – and pointed it at the moving target dummy. Hanzo tracked it the way he would a bow; slowly, carefully, precisely, before clicking the trigger.

The recoil was enough to wind him as his elbows awkwardly jutted into his side at the sheer momentum of the gun kicking back. The drastic movement of his arms from the unexpected knock back caused the bullet to miss and instead embed several feet away from his target. To Soldier's credit, he didn't laugh or mock Hanzo, merely nod silently to himself as he guessed that was what would happen.

"… Unexpected." the marksman quietly conceded, face impossible to tell as he stared at the mark he made in the wall. He compared what he felt to when he was watching Jack effortlessly pelt the targets with fairly accurate and consistent aim.

"Lot harder than it looks." filled Morrison, speaking what crossed Hanzo's mind. "For what it's worth, I've seen worse. Back when I trained recruits, I had a jumpy little upstart think it's easy 'cause he played all those shooter games. Held the gun all wrong and was crying all the way to the medbay when the recoil of the gun hit his face. Long story short, you got good form, you just need practice."

"Yes, well, I am not intending to exchange my bow any time soon." ruefully Hanzo said. Soldier happily took his rifle off of his hands, and the weight lifted was a great relief. The archer normally would snap at a chance of redeeming himself by practising or challenging the other man to use his bow, but his weapon meant more to him than a tool to kill – the sentimental value alone made him unwilling to let anyone else touch it.

"It feels more organic to me – the bow. Like I am using an extension of myself." he added as an afterthought in explanation. He felt no connection with Soldier's rifle – it was unfamiliar, alien in his hands. It was the first time that he felt aware he was wielding something rather than merely knowing.

"The arrows I fire are not simply _arrows_. They are the Dragon's judgement. Their fury. It is more than just I that guides their path."

Hanzo expected a grizzled, down-to-earth war veteran like Soldier to disagree, especially as the Japanese's man found it difficult to explain his connection in a language that was not his native tongue, but was mildly taken aback when he nodded lightly, humming in agreement. He reloaded his pulse rifle, dipping his head briefly.

"I think we all get like that to something, after a while. You start worrying when you begin naming them." Then, flatly, he added; "That's why I keep an eye on McCree."

Soldier considered it a success when a grin flashed across Hanzo's face before it returned to his stoicism. Then, more seriously, Jack continued the discussion, setting his weapon down, because for all his super strength and endurance, he didn't want to be hauling it around constantly if he wasn't going to practice.

"Bullets don't quite have the same mystical ring to it as – what did you call it? _Dragon's judgement?_ – but they sure do sing a different song to me." he said. "The song of _justice,_ each time they land in a criminal, each time they save a life _._ "

"You have far more honour than you let on, Soldier." Hanzo pointed out. "There are not many that fight for a principal or purpose."

Strangely, Morrison's voice turned a bit more hollow. "Yeah, well, sometimes the road to justice is the one less travelled, in all it's messy, _**dishonourable**_ , underhanded glory, and I've stopped following the rules long ago."

He inwardly berated himself when Hanzo fell silent and studied an arrow drawn from his quiver, made even worse by the voice of Ana in the back of his mind jokingly reminding him how he could never simply accept a compliment or praise when it was given. He simply never believed he deserved it – he was only doing what should be done, after all.

A saving grace in the form of another participant entering the range sounded out, the doors neatly closing behind them as their voice carried out, catching sight of Soldier's unmistakable jacket carelessly tossed near the ammunition depot.

" _Ohayō gozaimas_ _u,_ Soldier." uttered the dual tones of the man inside the machine. It immediately sounded a lot more jilted when he caught sight of Hanzo, the two men turning to regard their attention to Genji. He cleared his throat, quietly stating; "Brother."

Soldier didn't have to look at Hanzo to know that a conflicted emotion turmoil within ashen coloured eyes, hardening into a solid, critical stare that the marksman was known for. Genji might have been able to find inner peace within himself, but they had yet to repair the burnt bridges between each other, and the elder Shimada's pride made it difficult for him to do so. For the sake that they had company, he remained oddly neutral.

Morrison wasn't one for awkward tension, looking between the brothers subtly, cleared his throat and boldly stated, gesturing at the cyborg.

"Son, didn't they tell you not to bring a sword to a gunfight?"

The look on Hanzo's face was priceless, followed by Genji's reaction to said look, and Soldier quietly accepting a pat on the back at his _excellent_ skills at diffusing a dangerous situation.


	35. Rebuttal

**Title** : Rebuttal

 **Characters** : Dva, Mercy, Genji, Lucio, (Pharah, Winston, Soldier: 76)

 _ **Notes:** _

_This is a mix of super lighthearted (to brighten the mood from the Zarya chapter and what not) and kinda sad in hindsight. This is also like, 3 requests mixed into one. The Dva getting scolded was kinda gonna happen anyway, but kudos for ideas goes to_

 _PageHole  
Frozenstarr  
The Prime Writer _

**_Rapid Fire Round_**

 _\- Maybe I'll consider Hana finding out about the tablet, no promises_

 _\- Genji and Mercy felt as if they had crazy chemistry in this. Am I the only one?_

 _-Tracer/McCree (2nd time requested) accepted, I'll see what I can do with them. Hana's gonna be out of the matchmaking game for a while, but Ana is notorious for shipping._

 _-Literally, Grandma is very very supportive of her babies being happy. She will do everything in her power to kick McCree up the arse about confessing his damn feelings._

 _-Unfortunately McCree has the emotional range of a teaspoon and compensates with bad flirting._

 _\- More Roadhog accepted._

 _-fixed some minor things. - Guixi_

* * *

While the war against Omnics reignited in Russia, the professional gamer and MEKA pilot was handling her own battles back at base.

Two digits dipped into the highly serious, military grade paint (read: glittery goop she ordered for two bucks) and stroked her cheeks with red and white, completely messing up the twin pink whiskers she had delicately applied beforehand. Checking herself in the mirror, she nodded gravely to herself before raising a suspiciously American-themed bandanna to tie across her forehead and push back her fringe.

Her combat gear consisted of Lucio's shorts and sleeveless t-shirt, – to which he simply accepted that he'd never get back – a makeshift harness containing five water balloons filled with very sticky glitter, water mixed in with paint and stickers that had likely gone soggy at this point, two water blaster heavily modified to be styled in the same vein as Soldier's heavy pulse rifle and finally, the finishing touch of tinted sunglasses equipped with a camera and streaming programmes. For now, she'll kept it offline, until she had targeted the enemy.

Hana Song kicked open the door to her room, inwardly wincing as such an action hurt her foot, but kept herself calmly collected for the sake of style.

"I didn't start this war," she gruffly growled in the best Soldier impression she could muster, even it scratched at her throat to force her normally pitchy pleasant voice so low. "But I'm damn well going to finish it."

Giggling – which sounded more like a cackle even Junkrat would be embarrassed over – she stormed down the halls, pressing her back against the walls each time to check the corridors for any potential threats before continuing on. Hana needed backup if she were to fight in this dangerous battle, and knew the perfect recruit for the job.

Finding Lucio was easy – if there was music, follow it, and that was exactly what she did. The song didn't sound anything like he had made, but it was – game themed? Curiosity peaked in her as she dipped her head into the lounge, catching sight of the DJ lounging on the sofa, or rather, _off_ of it, as he was upside down and furiously mashing away at the controller.

Her gaze travelled from him to the screen, intently analysing the movements until he took a critical hit. She gasped loudly, thundering over to the sofa and clutching it tightly with her free hand, unable to stop herself from proclaiming;

"Counter! Counter!" If Dva's voice made him jump, he didn't show it, only slipped off from his awkward position and hastily kept the game pad in front of him as his fingers were like lightning. "Half-circle B, A! Lucio, I trained you _better_ than this!"

"You are totally throwing my grove off right now, baby girl!"

"L-cancel!" she said in response, brow twitching at the intensity of concentration, watching in misery as Lucio's character, _Luigi_ , flew off screen into a comical fiery explosion and subsequently his last life, too. Both of them exploded into fit of exasperated noises, followed by the controller being tossed up in the air in anguish. He caught it flawlessly, and set the pad under the table with the rest of the assorted gaming items.

"Next time you're playing _Starcraft_ _II_ I'm going to yell ' _Zerg, zerg_!' in your ear." he threatened, turning around to look at her. He pulled his head back in astonishment, blinking and rechecked her over once more, lips involuntarily twisting into a silly grin.

"Are.. are you _**cosplaying**_ _Dad_? I don't – Hana, I. I can't take you seriously right now."

As he dissolved into a fit of good-natured laughter, she stuck her tongue at him for it and huffed, not truly angry over the tease. The Brazilian was one of the few people she allowed to get away with it, especially because he never took it too far and if he ever did, he was nothing but apology and embraces to make up for it.

"I'm not." she denied, even if she was, face paint covering the heated flush on her cheeks. "I'm supposed to be a _generic_ soldier! I'm going to a prank war and I need only the most trustworthy of men by my side!"

"Ignoring the subtle burn towards Dad." the freedom fighter stated with the cheekiest fat grin on his face with his unrelenting teasing, "I'm not going into a fight blind. Who we up against?"

Hana drew closer to him, voice dropping low in a conspirational tone, gaze shifting side to side to make sure they were alone before she whispered; "Some say he is the deadliest assassin because he is part machine. Some claim him to have every single high score in every arcade game Hanamura stocked. And I.. I call him _Genji Shimada_."

Lucio managed to contain himself just enough to play along for all of two seconds as he drew in a deep breath, exhaled and lanced her with the most serious, battle-worn face he could muster, to which he ruined with him wrestling a smile off his lips. He accepted the outdrawn water rifle, cocking it and standing at the ready.

"He won't even know what hit him."

Hana grinned deviously.

* * *

"And you are sure this actually.. _works?"_

Genji chuckled quietly; the sound like a soft tumbling tone mixed with a digitized inflections; harmonious, much like his master, Zenyatta's, at Angela's skepticism regarding meditation. He did not even need to look at her to know she was constantly readjusting her position, mind working overtime no matter what state she was in. It was easy for him to drift in and out of the dream-like state of meditation with all of his years of practice.

Angela frankly felt foolish sitting on her knees on the floor of her office, as her dress was not exactly ideal to sit cross-legged like the ninja. She closed her eyes once more, but the light fixtures above forced her lids to flutter open and her dainty hands balled into slim fists in annoyance at failing over something so menial as relaxation.

"You must let go of your worldly inhibitions." he answered for the umpteenth time she had asked since they sat. He found a strange sort of humour in that he was the one trying to balance out a soul toiling in discord. Zenyatta truly was a wonderful influence.

With a sigh, her cheek came to gingerly rest in the palm of her hand. "There's too _much_ to think about. Patients to care for, thesis to write, students to teach, agents to watch over, Torbjörn to stop.."

"Humour me, Dr. Ziegler. When was the last time you did anything for _yourself_?" the younger Shimada lord inquired, head now tilting to her direction as he ended his meditation and placed his hands gently on his ankles.

Alarmingly, though not surprisingly, Mercy did not answer for the longest time, before ruefully offering the cyborg ninja a tiny smile. "Other's happiness is enough for me, _liebe_."

"Perhaps." he agreed. "But you are no machine, Doctor. You have your own needs to care for as well."

A world-weary exhale escaped the doctor. It wasn't like she was purposefully ignoring herself or didn't understand the truth of his words – far from it, she was fully aware – but there was little she could do to escape the habit now, and her tendency to place other's feelings and needs far above her own. The one day she had woken up to a clean clinic thanks to Hana's and Lucio's efforts, she had been brought to _tears_ because of just how thoughtful the gesture had been – it wasn't often things like that happened.

Of course, that did not mean she was going to let the young adult off the hook for her latest instance, regarding the rumours. Especially since she had failed to turn up.

She made a move to stand up, finding herself unable to stop a smile when Genji practically bolted up and offered a hand in assistance. The corners of her eyes crinkled, making her angelic youthful face look just a tad more like the age she truly was and accepted his hand. She could be a dead weight and it would be effortless for him to tenderly bring her to her feet.

"Thank you. I will attempt more of these.. meditation practices when a day is less hectic. Gibraltar is not the most scenic area, but there should be enough plant life to be soothing." murmured Angela.

"Another tip is to allow it to flow to you. There is little point in trying to force yourself to meditate. You must feel like you are willing to do so." Genji added, slipping his hand away from hers hastily when he let it linger for second too long. Had she been able to see his face, it would be easy to tell the tentative flash in his eyes; though it inflected nicely with the rise of his tone.

"I'll keep that in mind." she said, glancing towards the clock. "Hmmpf. Once again, Hana ignores my request. I would not want to bother you, _liebe_ , but if you come across her.."

He bobbed his head before she had even finished. "Of course, Doctor. It will become my mission to escort Miss Song to your office. She has been getting rather.. unruly as of late with the lack of missions to get rid of all that.. energy."

"And unlike any regular agent, she refuses to do physical exercise to get rid of it. Note, write down a series of light physiotherapy and postural exercises." muttered Angela. It was probably for the best, in hindsight – she wasn't a soldier like most of the agents, she was a gamer. Soldier had gave his usual excuse about it being too dangerous having her train with the rest of them, though never expressly said _why_ it was. She made a mental note to remind him that Hana was nine _teen_ , not _nine._

"If that is all, Doctor..?" he asked in his way of requesting to be dismissed. She made a gesture that he accepted. Angela had heard more than enough about meditation and thinking about Hana's antics had soured her decent mood once more. By the time Genji had left, she had resumed to be behind her chair, brooding over some important-looking documents.

* * *

Genji's mission looked as if it would be over surprisingly quickly, because his suit was picking up familiar signals far before he actually saw the two of them. He had already begun preparing what to say when he stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of her, swiftly followed by –

"I've got you in my sights!" she yelled as loud as she could, pressing a button on the side of her sunglasses to activate her live stream and camera, tugging off the two loaded water balloons from her harness and flinging them towards Genji, all while Lucio skated to the side, pumped the water rifle and fired a jet of liquid at him.

It was hard-wired into him, literally, to grab at the _wakizashi_ sheathed around his hips and swing forth in a common deflection technique, regretting his impulsive reaction immediately as it sliced through the balloons like butter and spilt all the contents of glitter, glue and paint all over his typically clean, chrome metallic plates and stained his sword. He was so stunned at what just happened in such a short time that he did not even react to the water splashed all over him.

He stared. Simply _stared_ at his weapon and his hand, trying to comprehend why he had just done that when the outcome was just so obvious. He considered his action a great dishonour to his credibility as an assassin.. and to his pride.

Meanwhile, Hana broke into manic laughter, tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her face the longer she laughed as Genji actually _fell_ for it. He tried to deflect a water balloon. Lucio quickly had to speed up beside her and let her lean on him for support, or else she would've been in a fit on the floor.

She can only imagine what the chat was like right now.

The gamer desperately tried to compose herself, wiping away at the tears, but a particularly goopy blob of glittery paint dripped to the floor, and the splat set her off once more.

Very slowly, as if autonomous, Genji sheathed his weapon. "Hana Song." his dual tones were mono, challenging, stance combative. There really was only one way to redeem himself, now.

"You got eliminated, Genji. Or should I say, Gen _ **ji**_ - _Gee? Hah!_ That's going to be an emote for my stream _._ Anyone in chat an artist? You know what to do."

"The dragon becomes me!" the assassin bellowed, frightening Hana with his sudden outcry, charging forth. She shrieked in a mixture of delight, terror and adrenaline, scrambling back and running as fast as she can, hurriedly fumbling with her glasses as she tried to turn off the broadcast – she did not want them to witness her getting outdone on her own show.

Lucio wisely backed away, letting his comrade fall to the enemy because hell hath no fury like a dragon. He did, amusingly, bring up his smart phone to record it, for _future_ use, likely to deter Hana from ever making the same mistake again. And personal bemusement.

Her legs and lungs burned from the sprint, sweat dotted her arms and lined her face, even if Genji was not even trying. If he wanted to, he could catch up in two swift strides, though took Mercy's note to heart and decided to give her a bit of a work out. She twisted back around in a daring move to toss more water balloons at him, but he did not fall for the same trick twice and dodged around it.

"You will never take me alive!" she viciously bit out, mustering up a second wind to put some admirable distance between the two and dive into the nearest room, thudding as she landed painfully but pushed herself to make it look like an epic roll, hands pressed onto the floor and breathing coming out in nothing more than short, heavy pants.

The unfortunate occupant of the room, Pharah, peeked over the couch, took one look at Hana and decided not to get involved or question it, slowly slinking back out of sight.

Dva's felt as if she just power walked into an oven, flopping back against the cold floor to catch her breath and staring up in futility as Genji loomed over her, arms folded and not even winded for a moment. In fact, he likely got more tired restraining his potential than the actual chase itself.

"Have mercy." she bemoaned.

"Yes. That is exactly who I am going to take you to." Hana tried to crawl away, wailing in her native tongue as the cyborg gathered her up in his arms to carry her to Angela's office. At least she could enjoy the free ride while it lasted.

To Mercy's credit, the only note she made of Genji's state of dishevel and glitter was a perked brow, before she flayed the squirming Korean teen with a powerful look that instantly grabbed her attention and stopped her fidgeting. She milked her discomfort a little by entwining her fingers together and letting her elbows rest on the table, giving the medic a far more ominous and sinister look.

"Hana Song," Angela began. "I am _**disappointed**_ in you."

The teen's heart stopped for just a fraction of a beat. She could take flak from anyone. Hate washed over her like rain on a windowpane. Jealousy and envy were hand-in-hand for her online persona. But.. disappointment? From someone she viewed as a matronly figure? All of the jest, fun and games seemed to just drain from her as her hands nudged toward each other to fiddle with the fingers in idle habit.

Hana did not feel _guilt._ She had been through this already. Even if she repeatedly told herself that to mask the nauseous feeling in the abyss of her stomach.

"I've done nothing _wrong._ " she protested, even if her voice disbelieved herself. Hana attempted to stand, but Genji's hand shot out, clasped over her shoulder and persuaded her to sit back down.

"Let's go down the list, shall we? Not only have you consistently played these so called ' _pranks_ ' on your fellow agents, with Genji being your latest victim, you have spread false and downright malicious rumours -"

"They're not malicious! It's just –"

"I am not _finished_ , young lady." the absolute commanding tone of the doctor halted her, and Hana's mouth snapped shut, gaze directed to the floor. "These rumours, while may seem like harmless fun can manifest into something called _assassination of character_. And depending on the rumour, could cause potential danger in the long run."

As she took a brief moment to pause, Dva piped up. "Come on, Mom. It's not like anyone actually believes it."

"You would be surprised. Given your insistence to act like a child with disruptive behaviour, I see it's fitting you should be punished like one." Angela's face was made of stone. "I am limiting your internet privileges to seven hours a week indefinitely, with parental password."

Silence.

Hana laughed, but it was not a chirpy one full of mirth. It was a nervous one borne of anxiety at the growing situation at just how serious Mercy was about the punishment. Looking to Genji offered no help, and her lips twitched before partially curling back to display an arrogant snarl trying to hide her desperate pleading.

"You can't do that." she flatly, boldly stated. "You have no right to take _anything_ away from me. I'm an agent just as much as the rest of you – Commander's gotta agree to this kind of decision."

"I know." the medic sweetly said in a sing-song voice, apparently having thought ahead and pressed into one of the buttons on her intercom to connect to another; observing Hana's confidence sink away like her body into the chair. The device connected.

"Winston, do you believe it is fitting to punish Agent Song for her misconduct? I am imposing a curfew on her internet."

" _Hm? Oh, yes. That sounds like a good idea_." the gorilla's voice filtered through, and Dva felt as if her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. _"If she is there with you, then I have to say I expected better from you, Dva. It is fine to have fun once in a while, but one must not get out of hand."_

As Mercy clicked away, Hana desperately threw in; "Dad! He'd _never_ agree to this. You're pretty much torturing me!"

Click. "Jack, Hana believes that you would not agree to her punishment."

" _Sorry kid,_ " his gruff voice sounded far more scratchier over comm. " _I learnt long ago not to mess with Mercy. Should've gave you that lesson sooner than later, but nothing says training like first hand experience."_

Hana threw her head back against the rest of the chair, groaning as everything and everyone seemed against her. She took one look at Angela's tranquil yet stern visage and grimaced herself, raising a hand to rip the silly bandanna of her head and use it to wipe away the face paint on her cheeks. Sooner or later she had a feeling that her actions eventually would catch up to her, but not so fast.

".. I'm sorry." she finally admitted in a low voice, adding a small chink in Mercy's iron will.

"I accept your apology." Angela told her, then strengthened her resolve. "But I have yet to forgive you for spreading such misleading rumours about Roadhog and I. If you simply have asked before saying anything, I would have been more than happy to clear up any confusion. You need to learn that there is a time and a place for such things."

"Can I go now?" grumbled the Korean celebrity, feet shuffling and gaze refusing to meet the woman. She wanted no more part of the discussion, thoroughly chastised by the event.

"You may."

Genji frowned behind his mask as Hana forcefully pushed by him, waiting until the doors of the office slammed shut before seeing Mercy's queenly mask drop into a vexed black look. She clearly did not want to do that, but someone had to be firm with Hana, or she easily brushed them off. He absent mindedly flicked off a bit of glittery paint off of his chassis before chuckling airily.

"I was very much like Hana when I was a teen." he reminisced. "She'll grow angry with you. Probably even say things she does not mean when she tries to bury that anger – but in the long run, it will be enlightening to her. I have faith she will learn from this experience."

"For all of our sakes, I hope so." tiredly said Angela. "I'll teach you a meditation method, _liebe –_ I call it, a _**drink**_."

"Strangely, Master Zenyatta left this exclusive technique out. I hope what I lack as a decent drinking partner I make up for in conversation, then." Genji grinned hiddenly, offering his hand once more.


	36. Recline

**Title:** Recline

 **Characters** : Tracer, McCree, (Various Characters)

 _ **Note:** This is for all those who requested more Tracer and McCree! Kudos to_

 _Guest (rip I can't credit you)_  
 _cirithewitcheress - ok, not technically your request, but it's building up to that ;D_

 _Also, I'd like to take the time to say **THANK YOU SO MUCH** to ALL of the kind reviews. This story has hit over **101k views**! Hooley dooley! I'm in shock and awe. I've been getting messages that people really like this, or my writing, and I'm just, blubbering here. Honestly, I wish I could do more than simply thank you. ;-;_

 _ **Rapid Fire Round**_

 _\- I did kind of adopt the poker idea for this chapter, but I will have something with Junkrat and Symmetra - second time they've been requested._

 _-Mercy/76 accepted, not now._

 _-I've corrected the weapon mistake, kudos Sulhanjan!_

 _-I have made Pharah make a couple more recent appearances, but I will give another chapter to her, definitely a mother-daughter bonding one. She has a lot to say about the fact Ana will go out of the way to slamdunk a dangerous terrorist for someone that isn't her own child, but has for the most part neglected Pharah herself. Trust me, I have a good idea for a drabble with them ;)_

 _\- Guixi_

* * *

The aircraft touched gently on the runway, speed gradually waning to a crawl as it approached the sizeable hangar. Tracer and Winston hadn't been able to convince Zarya to return back to Overwatch with them, as she was content to remain in Russia for now, until it was safe again, but they were certainly more than willing to lend assistance. The scientist gave her full access to all of the organization's communication lines, from private direct comms to him and the other unofficial commanders, to Mercy's emergency only line.

It took some marginal convincing to get Lena to leave as well. Bless her heart, when she heard about the cause, she was dead set in remaining there to do all she could to help the country, though eventually was peeled away by Winston's persuasion. Lena's abilities were simply better suited elsewhere than the front lines – specifically, the back of the _enemy'_ s lines – and her scouting excursions were too invaluable to miss out on.

Tracer's face was unsurprisingly pressed up against the window as she stared down below at the engineers and attendants scurrying around, having prepped for their arrival. Beyond that lied a railing where she spotted a few figures waiting for it to be safe enough for it to be lifted so they could greet the returning agents.

Winston glanced over to his good friend and rolled his eyes benignly at her antics, before gently placing a beefy paw on her shoulder to tug her away from the window, and to sit properly on the bench– the aircraft hadn't completely stopped yet, and safety was everything. Even still, the agent found herself unable to sit still and rocked side to side, excitement dancing in liquid brown hues.

The second the pilot cleared them to leave, the woman was nothing but a streak of blue, already by the bottom of the aircraft's stairs and threw her arms up happily, spinning around and proclaiming;

"Hello, Overwatch!" she cracked a grin at the sense of deja vu – she had done the exact same thing when she had first been recruited, too. "The cavalry's returned!"

The sound of jingling spurs made her ears twitch and her attention thrown towards the protective railing, watching it lift up to let the agents on the ground meet with the returning crew. It took all of her willpower not to bound up and down – she really was overjoyed to be back, yet froze when her gaze cascading over the sight of McCree and his own toothy grin that touched his lips.

He barely managed to get out a greeting before the pixie like woman had sprinted up to him, and practically _leapt_ into his arms, the two of them breaking into a shared laugh at his noise of delighted surprise. Jesse stumbled a little at the force of her impacting against him, especially as her chronal accelerator bumped against his armoured chestplate in a resounding _clank_ , but regained his balance swiftly and wrapped his arms strongly around her waist and relished in the sporty perfume that washed over him.

Her arms tangled loosely around his shoulders, giggling as he lifted her up, the tips of her toes just barely gracing the floor like an angelic float, pulling away from the embrace long enough to now look into his eyes at equal height – a rare thing for her.

"Didja miss me?" Tracer teased; showering him with a smile that rivalled the sun for it's bright, vibrant energy.

"Absolutely not," McCree joked, the corners of his eyes crinkling at her responding lip trembling pout. "Aw, don't go crying on me, sweetheart. You know that'll get me to blubber too, then we'll both look like horrible messes."

"Speak for yourself, Tex." she snickered, then regarded him with a bemused slant. "You thinking about putting me down any time soon? Ana is giving us a _**very**_ strange look."

It was far too endearing to watch him blink rather innocently, realise that he had kept a hold of her since catching her impromptu leap, and flush a jarring pink against the tan of his skin. He fumbled, mumbling in a thick drawl and gently placed her back on the floor, entirely avoiding the elated face of the elderly woman eagerly watching the two reconnect.

Jesse hastily retracted his arms away from her waist to linger by his side, shooting the two women with a crooked grin that hid his embarrassment, though they both could easily see through it. It was made even worse by Ana's presence, given her usual chat consisting of her.. _encouragement_.. regarding Lena.

"Oh, children, don't worry about me. I am simply waiting for – Ah, Winston, there you are." the sniper tittered, shuffling over towards the gorilla and slipping her thin arm around his bulky limb and offering the confused scientist a knowing smirk. "We have _so_ much to talk about, why don't we go to one of the conference rooms?"

"W-We do?" he asked, thoroughly puzzled at her implications and took one look to the proximity of McCree and Tracer, snorting out an instinctual huff directed at the cowboy when he took the wrong time to drape a friendly arm around the smaller woman's shoulders. "No, no, maybe I should stay –"

" _This_ way, Winston." There were few rules from the original Overwatch that had stuck with them, but one that would withstand the test of time and outlive them all was the commandment that Ana Amari, alongside a prayer never to meet her wrath, was not to have her insistence taken lightly. The gorilla heaved a sigh and let himself be herded away from the pair, muttering something about being too much of a pushover.

Yet he was loved for his status as a bit of a softie, even if it didn't make for a good commander. He supposed that was why Jack Morrison rejoining was a blessing in disguise. Initially, he had been bitter and unwilling to retake the mantle, but the longer he remained, he naturally eased back into some unofficial position. It helped that many still respected him for reasons beyond his comprehension, and he was a necessity for keeping Ana in check.

Tracer observed the exchange all with a raised brow, and McCree seemed content to partially hide his face with the dip of his hat. "Remind me, oh, _Johnny Guitar,_ never to get on Ana's bad side."

McCree's bushy brown brows knitted together at her unusual moniker for him. He understood the reference, but that was stretching it a bit too far. He seemed less concerned about Ana (and by extension, Winston too) now that it was just the two of them. Alone. "Are you trying to out nickname _me_? 'Cause trust me, doll. That's one duel you'll lose."

A sordid smirk played impishly in the corners of her mouth as she slotted easily by his side, his arm content to remain draped lazily over her shoulders and utilized her shorter height to lean her head against his chest. The two began to walk – because the aircraft hangar was not exactly the best place to have a conversation – aimless, but, carefree. The two were more than happy to just let their feet take them wherever.

It felt nice just to have something solid and _warm_ to lean against after such a daring flight to aid a one-sided battle. Truthfully, the trip had revitalized Lena. She needed to get away from everything for at least a moment. No conflicted feelings. No missions that every second was like her last, and most importantly.. no _Reaper_. The sprite genuinely felt perky for the first time in what must have been like.. _forever_ , since they had captured the terrorist.

"There's only so many ways you can sugar-coat saying 'honey', compared to westerns and cowboys, _Eastwood_." she mischievously pointed out, all while observing his character. Without the presence of others to point it out, he was confident; he didn't blush nor blunder showing her affection like they've always done – as noted before, they were physical people. Jesse was a slightly more restrained than Lena, but he was more than happy to sling an arm around in camaraderie and thought nothing of it.

Yet the moment someone mentioned about their habits, it was like being whipped into shape by a drill sergeant. A thought crossed her mind to sully her little teasing, and really hoped that Jesse was not embarrassed to be around her.

She drew in a breath. So much for happy thoughts and rejuvenation.

McCree, unaware, chuckled good-naturedly. "And you know every single one of them? You sure I'm the one that's quote, _creepily_ _obsessed_ , darlin'?"

Her blood felt as if it just chilled to the core, her entire body turning rigid and halting in place, causing the cowboy to stumble and regard her with bafflement, noting her wide-eyes, like she had just saw a ghost. He muttered a curse at himself, tried to re-evaluate what he said that was wrong and was begun to try and apologize while her thoughts were running rampant and her gaze flickering rapidly.

" _Shit_ – I'm sorry If I –"

"How did you know I said that to quote?" she cut him off, inkling of anxiety trickling into her voice and reflected in her light brown coloured eyes. The muscle in her neck twitched from the tension. There was only _one_ person she had mentioned those words specifically to, and it was not Jesse McCree.

Her fears were steadily becoming confirmed as McCree took a moment to ponder, before a brief grimace marred his ruggedly handsome face, likely unwilling to want to admit it, but he wanted to be an honest man, especially to Lena. "Aw, well. Quite a few years ago now, darlin'. Think Reyes mentioned that, saying it was ' _what you thought about me_ '."

It shocked him to hear her voice drop into a mimicry of Ana's controlled fury, so much so he even involuntary glanced to see if the sniper was around. Lena looked like the perfect image of composure, which, given who she was, made it all the more apparent that she was silently fuming. McCree had learned fairly quickly that the most passionate people tended to have the quickest, explosive tempers that barely lasted.

"What _else_ did Gabriel tell you I said." What she didn't add, was ' _things I expressly said in private and in no ways should have been repeated.'_ The fact that he deliberately chose to violate her trust just to pick the ones to rub in Jesse's face infuriated her all the more – and for _what_? Pettiness?

"I've had a lot of drinks since then to now, I can't remember everything he said to me, hun." wisely he tried to defuse and pacify her. There goes his plan for being completely honest – the few things he did remember were not exactly pleasant. Lena was not a horrible or cruel person, so there was little insult to his person aside from ineffectual jokes, but Gabriel had a way of twisting her words to sound like it _was_ a harsh mark against him.

As such, a ' _vigilante with a heart of gold_ ' ended up becoming ' _lawless thug with no redemption_.' Relatively tame, compared to the abuse he tolerated within his gang.

Inwardly kicking himself for triggering the start of her declining mood, Jesse was not happy with being the perpetrator and engulfed her slim shoulders with his hands, steering her towards the direction of the nearest bar. Her feet co-operated so she would not end up falling, but she made noises of protest.

"Since you went off to Russia without so much as a passing mention it's felt like I've gone sober without my old drinkin' buddy." he explained, easing up when she tugged out of his grip and fell into step beside him, even if it was just a way to keep her in his sights and to stop her from doing something regrettable, like interrogate Reaper over the issue. "So you and I are going to have a drink, and that's the end of it."

"Drinks don't solve everything, you know." she grumbled. "This really needs to stop being our go to answer."

"I can think of plenty _substitutes_ for our time if you'd like." Tracer glanced just at the right time to catch his brow wagging suggestively, and that cracked a smile to her lips. She smacked his arm lightly at his jest.

"I thought you were supposed to be the ' _charming_ ' one, love!" she stuck her tongue out at him playfully, a bit of previous cheer returning thanks to Jesse's efforts. He ruffled her hair, though it looked no different than what it was previously, given the state of dishevel it always appeared to be in.

He sniggered, quietly sighing in relief and patting himself on the back for a job well done in making sure Lena remained the joyous, chirpy Brit he knew and loved.

* * *

When they arrived at the bar, it seemed to be a full house. The air was filled with quiet, indecipherable murmurings, laughter and the clinks of drinks and splashing of liquid for the more uncoordinated drunks filtered within, and it was pleasant to see a good majority simply relaxed and at ease. Jesse idly wondered just how long the peace will actually last, and it was promptly broken by the boisterous laughter of the gentle German giant.

His gaze swept the area and was astonished by the amount of agents gathered in one spot. Tucked neatly in the corner, Angela and one of the Shimada brothers were chatting lowly to each other, and Jesse had to stare to realise that the good doctor was _smiling_ at the cyborg. His drink was untouched, but he noted bizarrely that it had some kind of crazy straw it in, likely from Hana's collection. A joke he'd likely missed, no doubt.

Speaking of Hana, the unruly teen had her forehead planted solidly on the table, sitting beside a supervising Soldier: 76. Apparently he had finally let her into one of the bars, though did not trust her word nor the bartender enough that she wouldn't try the alcohol, and had ordered for her. Jesse had to fight a grin from his face when he caught sight of a juice carton that was likely out of date and left over from when _Pharah_ was a child, and was, needles to say, untouched.

Jack himself was content to flick around with the tablet on his lap, one arm strewn over the back of Hana's chair and occasionally breaking eye contact with his device to shift to the girl. Typical, that he wouldn't leave his office work where it belonged and just relaxed, even if, unbeknown to Jesse, he was playing _Hearthstone._

Taking up centre stage was the inseparable duo of Torbjörn and Reinhardt, huge tankards of booze taking up the majority of the table as they were likely on their fifth or sixth drink by now, and neither of them showed even a hint of tipsiness. They were joined by a few new additions – an awkward looking Fareeha clad in black casual wear, somewhat flustered to be included with the two good friend's joviality, and a frazzled, rosy-cheeked Mei, nursing a glass of water.

"Och! The lovebirds have arrived!" boomed Reinhardt before them all, hands clutching his knees as he flashed Jesse and Lena a warm yet teasing grin. "We thought you had sneaked off somewhere. Ah, to be young again!"

It was Tracer who saved McCree from the humiliation and snickered. "If I knew you were expecting us for something, I'd have finished with him sooner."

Scratch that, she didn't save him at all. She made it _worse._

Tugging his hat downward a bit in an attempt to fix it but in reality was trying to cover his flushed face, the German knight bellowed a hearty laugh that felt as if it reverberated through their bones. At least Mei had the decency to look sheepish for Jesse, but it did little to ease the butterflies dancing in the pit of his stomach at the implications he had just made to her privately not so long ago. He really needed to stop letting it get to him.

Reinhardt sobered up a little, mirth swirling in his single good eye. "Of course. Has he not told you?"

That was enough to prompt McCree into a knowing noise, filling in. " – Morrison gave the all clear for a game's night, just a day or so after you left for Russia. We've been trying to get more people to play but," he smirked. "I think I scare 'em off."

"Because you are a cheater." Pharah gave a sidelong smirk to him, then addressed Tracer. "He's only lost one match, and that was because my mother was playing."

"It's not my fault Lady Luck finds me dashing, darlin'." he huffed in defence. "And your mother is a great card player, she beat me fair and square."

"She thought we were playing _Rummy_. In a game of _Texas hold 'em_."

The grin on Tracer's face was starting to hurt her cheeks, but it was worth it to witness just how uncomfortable Jesse was getting with all the accusing stares and knowing gestures. He cleared his throat, stormed up to his part of the table and sat down defiantly, sticking to his word regarding Ana's card playing skills, even if the woman was better suited for other things.

"Fine, if I'm so much of a cheat, I'll be the dealer." he declared, snatching the set of playing cards out from Torbjörn's hand, much to the shorter man's grumble, flicked out the jokers and expertly began shuffling them. He did have a knack for a riffle shuffle, making the trick look effortless in his deft fingers before dealing the cards.

"I'll go for drinks!" Mei piped up, blushing to the sound of encouraging applause from the crew. For space (and to make the bartender's job easier), she took up the empty glasses and shuffled over to the bar.

"Just like old times," mused Lena, happy to be back. She checked her hand and almost lost her poker face when she saw she had a pair of aces, and sneaked a glance to McCree.

Card sharp _indeed._


	37. Recreate

**Title** : Recreate

 **Characters** : Symmetra, Junkrat, (Torbjorn.)

 _ **Note:** Sorry it's a bit of a short one, I'm not feeling so well today but I really wanted to finish this idea. I guess it kinda shows. ;^; I'm just gonna skip to the RFR_

 _Kudos to:_

 _Ashbringer36 (to make up for using the poker idea for something else)_  
 _SaltyDan15 (for the actual request)_

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 _\- Is cackling at how many people she has converted to the McTracer/ReaperTracer cult - I mean ships_

 _\- McCree and Pharah? Well, I have an idea in mind, but it's not shippy. Accepted._

 _\- DDR contest accepted._

 _\- Hanzo and Mei accepted oh my GOD I cannot stop thinking about these two since seeing this suggestion. I think this has become a new ship for me ..._

 _\- TrueMcreeMemes, you let yourself down by not saying 'It's high noon here', instead of 2am XD, but thank you._

 _Always and forever, thank you everyone. - Guixi_

* * *

For regular users of the base's communal workshop and to the engineers themselves, the sounds of high pitched shrieking had just became a norm. It usually belonged to their resident demolition expert, upon (once again) catching fire from being too dangerously close to his project, or occasionally and this time ripped from Symmetra's throat when she saw her section had been sabotaged by the aforementioned Junker.

Her fleshy fist trembled in utter rage as her gaze swept side to side, sickened and riled to the core seeing the total mess. Everything had been ordered. Everything had been placed to perfection. Labels were neatly plastered on every bag, bin, bucket and cupboard. And now?

It was an indiscernible pile in the middle of the floor.

Symmetra had become so wound up at his antics she did not realise she was clenching her teeth until her jaw started to hurt. It would take hours to restore everything to how she envisioned it – thankfully, she had a photographic memory. Nevertheless, the Vishkar trade agent would not settle for such insubordination, especially since Torbjörn's response tended to be nothing on the matter.

Hard light sprung into the centre of her prosthetic palm, living digits manipulating it swiftly and meticulously into the design for her turret, reprogramming the AI with one intention only, before neatly embedding it against the frame of her door. With her protection sorted, she set to the gruelling task of cleaning up after Junkrat.

There was a sense of cruel satisfaction when she spotted his form hobbling towards her corner, fat smile slapped onto his crooked long face, to which she venomously returned, much to his confusion. Just as he snapped his fingers in greeting and stepped just that inch too close, her turrets sprung into life, photon beam searing into his exposed chest like little cigarette burns.

He yelped, unabashedly screaming – he was always a vocal man – and frantically tried to scramble away. The pain was like a continuous threading needle; coupled with the burn on his muscles that slowed his movements, but otherwise was not enough to cause serious, lasting harm. The grin was wiped away from his face, replaced with a heated questioning scowl as the friendly gesture of his hands was morphed into something a little more derogatory.

"Perhaps now you will take the hint, Fawkes." she hissed.

"You're breaking my heart, luv! After I went to all this trouble to get you a little _surprise_." he returned her vicious smirk. A sense of dread welled up in the pit of Symmetra's stomach when he hooked off one of the many grenades adorning his harness, sinking one of his incisors within the ring and pulling it off before drawing back and tossing the live explosive into her domain.

No amount of composure or etiquette training could stop the streak of instinctual fear sparking in her eyes, widening them as her lips popped open in an involuntary shout. Her hands and mind co-operated faster than she actually kept track, ensnaring the soaring charge into a hastily made prison of hard light, to which it exploded harmlessly and left only smoke curling out of any slits.

As her heart beat a mile a minute, Jamison was in stitches, robotic leg slipping as he scrabbled to try and maintain his grip, before giving up and contently throwing his arms around his sides, laughing hysterically. He seemed so amused by her reaction that little tracks of tears were visible on his cheeks thanks to the soot, and each noise emitted from him put Symmetra all the more on breaking point.

"I have _**HAD IT**_ with you two!" boomed a voice, silencing Junkrat to a more managable fit of giggles instead and Satya sheepishly resting a hand over her heart, trying to still the rapid beating.

A very stern looking Torbjörn rounded the corner and despite his short stature, beige apron, welding mask and beard neatly gathered and protected, he still commanded respect. At least, Symmetra's, in any case. Junkrat was far too tickled by the prank and the sight of him to muster up any semblance of respect, and she was pretty sure he didn't know the meaning of the word either. The Swedish engineer waved his hammer like a gavel of molten judgement, pointing accusingly at the pair.

"Every day it's same, bickering and fighting like yer five years old! I did not agree to share my workshop with a bunch of unruly children!" he grounded out.

"But -" her protests were shot down by his fiery glare.

"No! I don't want to hear another peep outta ya about this! Junkrat is here to stay, and if you don't like that then you can build one of yer fancy teleporters to go back to Vishkar an' tell 'em _why_ we sent you packing." Sufficiently reprimanded, Symmetra fell begrudgingly silent as Torbjorn rounded on the Junker.

"And I have told you repeatedly to stop antagonizing the other engineers, and repeatedly you have broken my rules to pick fights. This is not a playground, lad, this is a workshop!" Junkrat didn't seem to be listening, happy to remain on his floor and pick a bit of dusty earwax out of his ears, or scratch out some ash that had peppered his tufts of blonde hair.

Had it not been for his mask, they likely could have seen how red-faced Torbjorn was getting by shouting, and it was not because of the active furnace on his back. He simmered down a little, clawed appendage whirring as he lowered his hammer and spoke in a lower, yet still growling tone.

"I'm punishing the two of you to share a workshop space and to come up with a collaboration. If you manage that, then you will get your space back." he told them in a huff, taking in account the look of horror on Symmetra's face and Jamison finally snapping to attention.

"Oi, mate, you can't just -"

"I'm not yer _mate_ ," Torbjörn spat. "I am yer boss and my word's _**final**_!"

* * *

It had been an hour since the Swedish engineer had imposed his punishment on the two, and so far all they had managed to do was split the space to claim as their own and shoot askew, glaring glances. As Symmetra mustered up another look to flay the demolition's expert with, he had spiced it up to lewdly leer in jest; causing her to scrunch her face up in disgust and adjust the hard-light seat she had manufactured.

Working alongside the embodiment of chaos and anarchy was bad enough, but to work _with_ him was another circle of hell entirely. At the very least, Symmetra could be practical, and wanted nothing more than to have her own space back, so eventually resigned to pull one of the blueprint paper, construct a variety of her architectural tools and tap the side of her visor to activate it, back turned on the Junker.

The white pen flawlessly graced the pen as she began to drew up a few concepts, and she smelt the ashen soot of his charred scent just behind her shoulder long before he actually spoke.

"Whatcha drawin'?" he asked, innocently curious as from the corner of her eye, his head came into view. Her lip curled back to sneer as it appeared Junkrat had no sense of personal space, their cheeks inches apart while he stared at her design. What caused her to snap was a bit of chalky dust fluttering off of his hair and onto her dress, and she pulled back to flick it away.

"Something that will look primitive, to pass as a collaboration between our methods." she answered shortly, trying to return focus to her work. It was a little impossible as Junkrat now sat once more on the floor beside her chair, chin propped on the desk as he stared intently at her lines. Symmetra twirled the pen in her hand before rolling her eyes and conjuring up another chair for him.

"Oh, sweet! Thanks, Sheila."

"Don't mention it. Ever."

Jamison wiggled a bit in his seat, trying not to giggle (and failing) when it bobbed up and down with the pressure. Thankfully, he did not go overboard with it as his attention span was as fickle as his projects, and focused once more upon her drawing, foot and pegleg planted solidly on the small round seat of the stool.

"Why ya drawing it anyway? I thought you didn't need blueprints." he asked, genuinely curious.

Satya paused, but deigned to answer him that. It was an acceptable question. "It is a good way to visualise my thoughts and helps aid the creation process, especially with something new or unorthodox. Additionally, it helps to have some form of reference – I noticed you still have a periodic table in your space, albeit burned. I assume you refer to that when making explosives, no?"

He seemed proud that she would have guessed that, but it dropped as quickly as it came when he accused; "Who said you could go into my space?! Oooh, now I'm gonna leave traps all over the place for you to really step in it!"

"I did, since you invaded mine." she returned with equal bite. "And your traps could use a redesign to be a little less.. obvious."

"But then you don't get to see that precious face people make when they realise, _'oh shit, I did not see this coming from a mile away_ ', before they're blown to smithereens!" He cackled, and given his proximity, it caused Satya to cringe.

"Yes, well, I tend not to take sadistic delight in my creations, but let us take the scenario of Talon, for example. Do you think they would not notice something as crude as your steel trap?" She scrapped away the blueprint she was working on to pull out a fresh sheet, rapidly drawing up a prototype of a much slimmer, smaller, streamlined design.

Junkrat watched her work, entranced by how quickly and fluidly the motions came to her, how natural it was to simply, create and design. It kind of made him wanted to tear it up just so he could watch her do it again, though he figured she probably wouldn't appreciate that, and for the first time, refrained from his impulse.

"This is just a – a quick prototype of what I mean," she coolly stated, though there was an inkling of trepidation as he viewed her blueprint with acute inspection that did not befit the wild man. "Discreet, and functional."

"But a load of junk."

".. _Excuse me_?"

He shrugged his shoulders, never the most graceful person to deliver his criticism. "A load of junk. I mean, who am I trapping here, an anklebiter? Nah, your dinky thing wouldn't even trap the German's toe. I need something bigger with tougher stuff than light, y'know?"

Satya blinked. That was.. surprisingly adequate feedback, even if it was delivered poorly and uncouth. Her trimmed brows furrowed in concentration as she viewed her blueprint once more, immediately nitpicking the flaws she could see. She refused to let the heat on her cheeks show, merely bowing her head as she hummed in thought.

"Hm. This mistake can be corrected -"

Symmetra frowned deeply when Jamison wrestled the pen out of her grip, starting to scrawl crude and unsightly crooked lines on her design. It took a moment to realise that he was not defacing it for the sake of annoying her, but actually modifying it to show his point. Now, (if she was deciphering his drawings correctly) it possessed a series of serrated talons, a thicker base with some notes about what material would be used and..

".. is that a smiley face?"

Junkrat thumped his chest proudly. "I gotta have me trademark somewhere!"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she snatched the pen away from his hand, shuddering as it was now a bit sweaty and stained, and opted to simply craft a new one and give the sullied one to Junkrat. She visualised his creation, then drew up the modifications he had added to a new sheet, seeing the Junker rapidly bound his head up and down in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah, that's a good start!"

"I was thinking about integrating my photon technology to hold the person still, however on second thought I do not think you have access to such things." she flatly noted, pulling back to view the trap before a realisation hit her like a truck. They had just collaborated. She had worked with Junkrat, and she only had to raise her voice once.

Before he could comment further, she rolled up the design and hastily muttered; "It.. um, still has issues that I need to work on. I will show you the end result when I am done."

Junkrat didn't appear to be bothered nor care. "Sure, whatever floats your boat. Less work for me!"


	38. Reannex

**Title** : Reannex **  
**

 **Characters:** Zenyatta, Bastion. (Dva, Tracer.)

 **Note:** _Idea goes kudos to Nerubian Assassin, and also anyone else who suggested more Bastion and/or Zenyatta. Also, thank you for the kind reviews, I do feel a little better - hot water bottles solve everything, ahaha.._

 _ **Rapid Fire Round**_

 _\- Hahaha, accepted. Ana is always teasing McCree offscreen, so it's about time for her to nudge Tracer in the right direction._

 _\- Sniper duel/rivalry accepted_

 _\- Crazy games night accepted_

 _\- Guest: Hah, I understand. Tracer/Reaper isn't for everyone._ _I'm not going to try and throw reasons or excuses to 'make it work.' I had even typed a big long paragraph about how I ship them and such until I decided against it. You do you.  
_

 _I just hope you (and others) can enjoy the other chapters that aren't related to that specific plotline. There's bound to be something someone doesn't like, but there should be more than enough other stuff, right? If you do have questions regarding it, please PM me. I don't really want to answer through reviews like this ^^ - Guixi  
_

* * *

When Genji missed his daily meditation session, Zenyatta was not surprised, nor was he annoyed.

Through the Iris, he could see endless possibilities, like continuously flowing split roads of choices to make and their outcomes. He had long accepted, either good or bad, that the outcomes were not preordained, and would embrace them as they came. He had hid a surge of joy when Genji had been dropping small, subtle hints about his growing compassion regarding a certain Swiss doctor. It delighted him to see his hesitance and uncertainty, his soul slowly moving on from the defilement it suffered with coming to terms with his new body.

He had worked himself in a worry that was only noticeable by his master, of course. His strikes on training dummies were a little more impactful; his dual tones short but peppered with anxiety to those who had the ear for such a thing. In the end, he had opted to officially state his point of view through a reassuring clasp of the shoulder, advising him that Angela was one of the most empathic humans he had the pleasure to meet.

That seemed to be blessing enough from Zenyatta, and not a day or so later after that small exchange, Athena had explained to him that Genji (and Mercy,) had requested flight to Hanamura, and currently resided in the arcade, when the Omnic had tried to locate where his wayward student had gone off too. It still warmed the processors in his core to know that someone who had been so full of discord could overcome all odds, overcome the world abandoning them, thanks to a few helping, merciful hands.

It was not always the case. He remembered the first mention of Mercy he had come to know through Genji's bitter mutterings, citing she and Overwatch as the reason for him becoming what he had. Zenyatta opposed, but he let his student come to terms with himself. The Omnic had the pleasure of watching his journey from hatred, to begrudging respect, and now..? If he possessed lips, he would be smiling.

It _did_ throw his schedule a bit out of a loop, however, and he found himself with a block of time, unknowing what to do with it. He could meditate, but the sessions themselves were more for his student than himself, and he had grown so accustomed to having a partner that it felt.. unbalanced to meditate alone. In the monastery, they often had huge sections of time dedicated to remain in silence. The gentle hum of his brothers and sisters were his chants to take refuge in.

Zenyatta was never aimless when he wandered. There was always a purpose behind it, even if he himself did not yet know it. It did not matter – for the Iris knew. He remained content, unaffected by the various pointed glances thrown his way when he hovered past a few open doorways.

His hands clasped, resting neatly on his lap as he slowed down, predicting Tracer blinking right smack in front of him long before he had heard her accelerator whirl up. A perky smile was on her face, even if he could see past the strained, injured mask and witness the turmoil within and beamed brightly at him.

"Hi, Zenny!" she greeted, brown hues shining with mirth. "This must be your first day without Gee, huh? Fancy him nickin' the doctor for himself! God, McCree can't stop grinning like a fool – he must have sent a hundred.. erm, _encouraging_ texts to him."

"Greetings, Miss Oxton." the omnic started, politely, though head tilted just a notch at her impromptu shortening of his name. He rather liked it, actually. "I do not usually condone selfishness, but if there are two who deserve to enjoy themselves the most, I believe it is them. As for your significant other, perhaps you could gently urge him to let my student be. This is the first step he has taken towards a lighter path that I have come to witness in a long time."

There was bemusement underlining the rich, cascading synthetic voice Zenyatta had. It was a soothing cadence, with worldly wisdom sowed into it's inflection and harmonious enough to be a song of peace in of itself, or that one could listen to for hours. Nevertheless, that did not stop the pixie of a woman from her cheeks flaring up, hands waving in frantic gesture.

"Significant – Oh, no, no, McCree and I aren't – Don't get me wrong, he's a very nice man, a bit goofy, sweet and handsome and, God, I can't believe I just said that. What I mean is -"

As she continued to dig herself deeper in a grave, her own voice upping in pitch and speeding up, hitting incredible records with how fast she spoke. The Omnic monk chuckled softly, catching her attention and stopping her dead in her tracks, managing a measly, flustered grin.

"A humble mistake. My apologies." Though it sounded genuine and she doubted the monk would lie, Tracer couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew more than he let on and was holding back for her sake. After all, Zenyatta was more than happy to offer his guidance, but he followed a strong principal to allow people to figure things out for themselves, with only a tenuous guiding hand from him.

He had put the thought in her mind, that was for sure, judging by the remaining red hue colouring her face and lower lip drawn to be bitten in reluctance. Zenyatta was beginning to realise just how many of the agents repress their true feelings, and it saddened him to know so. He was swiftly drawn out of the enigma of his vast mind by the tinkling sound of her laugh.

"Right – yeah. I'll get Jesse to stop pestering Genji." she ruffled her own hair, offering the monk a thumbs up. "You're more than welcome to hang with us if you just need a bit of company."

Truthfully, he didn't want to intrude on the budding flower between the westerner and the ex-pilot, and merely tilted his head, pondering the best way to decline without offending her. "I appreciate the offer, Miss Oxton, but I'm afraid I don't hang. I float."

Zenyatta left after that to the astonished look of her, catching a brief; ' _Jesse, you'll never believe the joke I just heard from Zenny_.' as she returned in the room, and he shook his head. He may be younger by creation date, but even he couldn't help but think fondly of the youth. Or perhaps Tracer merely had that effect on people; being so vibrant and full of life, that even despite her tragedies she remained a beacon of goodness and cheer.

He drifted down the hall, humming to himself and finding his own path had taken him towards one of the more emptier areas, but to his knowledge, another Omnic had laid claim to the relatively abandoned space. It had at least, been cleaned up since he first took to it, removing all of the electrical hazards, installing better light fixtures and generally making it a nice little zone for the unit to claim as his own. As such, Zenyatta began to notice additions such as pieces of grass and potted flowers lining the walkways.

A mild surprise overcame him when he saw the teen – Hana Song – reclining against the Bastion unit like it was nothing, looking very grumpy as she flicked over something on her tablet, one hand buried in her fringe as she ran her fingers through the waterfalls of her hair and snorted angrily at something popping up on her screen.

Bastion regarded it's head down to her, beeping in comfort. Zenyatta understood the binary code translated as noise, deciphering it within nano-seconds, but Hana did not possess a super-computer for a mind or had ears that could filter out the digitized mess of chiptune.

"Don't you beep at me with that tone, mister, I'm doing all I can!" she huffed. "Winston's hit a roadblock, Symmetra can't do anything until she gets his work. Even Mei is getting involved, but none of them have specialisation in Omnics."

"The Bastion unit merely stated it is in awe of the level of dedication you and your fellow agents is taking for it, and it appreciates all you have done so far." supplied Zenyatta, causing the girl's head to snap to him, mouth morphing into a small smile as she ducked her head, bashfully.

"A-Ah. In that case, um. Sorry, Bastion – and don't worry about it. Someone's gotta keep an eye on you, right? Might as well be me." she winced at how that sounded, especially given the impossible-to-tell expression of the two robots. Zenyatta was elated to hear something like that, though. It was a reminder that all of his efforts, and the efforts of his brothers and sisters were not all for naught, that their messages do reach some people.

Bastion made it worse by patting her on top of the head in a gesture it had saw Soldier: 76 do, and likely copied it hoping she understood it's meaning. Hana blew a strand of hair out of her face and rolled her eyes benignly.

"Forgive me for intruding, Miss Song," the monk started, index digits tapping together in thought. "But I wonder why you are here?"

"I've been working with Bastion for a while now, trying to get it a voice. Or well, a translator." she offhandedly responded with a small shrug. "It's turning out to be far more complex than we could've hoped. Like, seriously, _who_ designed these things?"

There was a pause of stifling silence.

"Ignore that last part."

"Bastion units were never designed to speak," murmured the floating Omnic, more matter-of-fact than cruel. Their original protocol were peacekeepers and protectors, then later malformed into the soldiers that most humans fear them as. Never in their intended programming was speaking part of the equation. Zenyatta steepled his fingers, as he lacked lips to purse before commenting;

"It would lack the software to support such a function."

Hana stared at him like he had grown a second head, jaw dropping slightly as she processed his words. It seemed like such a simple solution that it would not work, but they had been going at the issue at so many angles, that maybe going back to basics was a must. A fat smile exploded across her face as she hopped up, hands clasping in cheer. It reminded her of all the news stories she had heard about programmers and rubber duckies, which sounded asinine until they were making breakthroughs.

"Zenyatta, you're a genius! Winston was wondering why none of his proposed equations were working. Ugh, why didn't I think just to ask you sooner?!" Hana approached him, throwing her arms around the Omnic in a brief hug of gratitude. Zenyatta's arms pulled back, his float dropping just enough for his legs to untangle and grace the floor and returned the gesture.

"One will sometimes be caught up with the endless possibilities, and it is hard to see the right answer when caught up in the sea of choice." he offered, letting her pull away from the embrace and reward him with a prideful, yet respectful grin.

"Definitely going to have to make a phone app with a bunch of your teachings, Zen." she teased lightly before waving, already starting to head out of the area when she threw; "I gotta tell Winston this. Catch'ya later!" over her shoulder.

Now that left the monk alone with the unit. He drifted to the side of the unit, the orbs surrounding his neck lowering to the edges of his feet as they so often did when he wanted to meditate. Zenyatta did not feel threatened in Bastion's presence – quite the opposite, he knew he would be protected and cared with it's life, if needs be. The tips of his metallic fingers came to slowly trace a petal of a potted flower, smile shown through his tone.

"You have made quite the home for yourself here, Bastion." he mused, drawing his hand away. His companion beeped, and Zenyatta could not help but think it reminded him of communicating birds. He even chuckled to a particular thing the unit said. "Yes, it does seem like that, doesn't it? I'm sure your friend will like your garden as much as you do."

Pleased with itself, Bastion straightened out one of the vases that had been pushed safely to the side when Hana came to visit, given her tendency to be a bit expressive with her arms and it didn't want either of them to get hurt. It's attention was swiftly drawn to the orbs beginning to lilt, the sound of gentle wind chimes emitting from them each time they bobbed up and displayed a small symbol.

He was not quite in his meditative state, and quietly asked; "What is the first thing you will say with your new voice?"

Bastion devoted all of it's processors, power and energy to it's thoughts. There were simply so many things it could say. It wanted to thank Ganymede, for being the first creature since it rebooted to trust it – it wanted to thank Hana for all of the work she had done and devotion poured into it, even if she tried to hide it behind a mask of indifference or cool disrespect.

Eventually, it settled on a series of beeps.

"I see." Zenyatta said. "That is very profound."

By the time Bastion had beeped out another of it's responses, the monk had drifted into deep meditation. Similar to how it witnessed Hanzo do so, the unit mimicked him, head lowering to touch it's chassis and powered down.


	39. Rec

**Title:** Rec

 **Characters** : Fareeha, Jesse McCree, (Ana Amari)

 _ **Notes**_ : _I'm sorry if it's confusing, but I really don't want to change 38+ chapter titles **or** suddenly change the naming convention and make it look mismatched. _

_a Guest also was the one to request a McCree and Pharah chapter, and this is the idea I had. It's not shippy, but I really just wanted something ultra cute to write to feel good and Kid Pharah and Kid McCree is adorable._

 _ **Rapid Fire Round**_

 _ **-** only veterans and a few select outsiders (like Dva) know about s76 = Morrison  
_

 _\- a lot of the chapters that relate to the characters have subtle hints as to why/how they are in Overwatch in chapters that relate/involve them  
_

 _-Mercy76 2nd time, noted._

 _As always thank you all for leaving such kind words, and requests. I don't think this story would be as big as it is without all of your help. I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I do writing, even if there might be a few things you may not like. - Guixi_

* * *

Jesse McCree was many things – a crook, thief, criminal, outlaw, you name it, he probably was it. His reputation as the star child of the Deadlock Rebels proceeded him, even after Gabriel had systemically shut down the operation and hauled his sorry ass back to base. He recalled still wearing the torn, black leather jacket with the skull emblem stitched into the back, face caked with flecks of blood from the shoot out and a limp, half-smoked cigar hanging out of his mouth, sporting a lovely broken nose when the Blackwatch commander had to _**persuade**_ him to put his gun down.

But he did work by a code of honour and law, even if it was of _his_ own making.

As such, he would move mountains to stick to his rules, and one such commandment was that _children_ _are one hundred percent sacred._ He didn't know when exactly that had integrated into his morals, but decided it would happen sooner or later – he had grown to resent the Deadlocks for picking him up at such an early age, and Jesse would never subject any child to a life of crime if he could help it.

They deserved so much more than to have their aspirations, hopes, education, social status and so forth ripped away from them by forces that are not even in their control. He was always a bit of a wild card in the Deadlocks because of it – ruthlessly efficient in shoot outs, a grand business man in illegal arms dealing. But the single moment they even _suggested_ using or involving children, the person with that bright idea ended up with a bullet in-between the eyes and him with a smoking gun, daring anyone else to try it.

Maybe it was some round-about way of atoning for his list of sins, but he had many weighing down on his shoulders like a corpse he so often had to carry to avoid detection. It was almost tragic how the seventeen year old boy was so overburdened.

Of course, he would not let anyone privy to his book of rules – that was firmly locked away in his head – and as such he tried to remain the dangerous, wanted criminal he wanted them to see him as. There was a certain satisfaction with the power he held when several Overwatch agents were tense around him, especially when his hand ghosted over where his revolver would be. His quick-draw was legendarily notorious, after all, earning himself the nickname of ' _dead-eye.'_

However all posturing dropped the moment a child – she couldn't have looked more older than eleven or twelve – waddled up to him, face scrunched in intense concentration and her hands placed firmly on her hips in an imitation of authority. Playing along, his hands immediately moved away from his empty holster to show his palms in surrender and defence.

"Whoa there, little lady! You the sheriff around here? I swear, I was just mindin' my own business." he joked, slipping down into a squat so they were eye-level. Fareeha's lips pushed into a pout as she mustered up the most cutest little glare he had ever seen possible. His chocolate coloured eyes darted up and around, as if expecting a parental figure to come and claim the child, but it seemed no-one stepped forth, only watching with caution.

"Are you really McCree?" she asked, challenging in her skeptical tone. "You don't _look_ like a McCree."

"Sure am, sheriff." he told her, flicking up his hat to expose his rugged face, in all it's crooked and still-healing-broken-nose glory. He had been refused medical service, much to Mercy's agitation and chagrin because of his behaviour. Something Gabriel said about punishment – he wasn't really listening to the old man. His own mouth dropped into a pout when she giggled at the sight of him, feigning that his pride had been hurt. "If ** _I'm_** not him, well shoot, what does he look like?"

"Bigger," she said, if that described everything. Fareeha pondered a little while, finger tapping her chin in open display of thought. "With a beard. And a poncho! But, you got the hat right."

"Did I now?" he mused, reaching up to remove his hat, running his hand through untamed locks of his fringe, while most of his hair had been gathered in a short, spiky ponytail and dunked the wide-brimmed stetson onto her head. She squealed delightfully, even if it was far too big for her and ended up covering her eyes. Fareeha pushed it back to see his winning grin.

"Now that's what I call a sheriff." he nodded to her. "Does this law-lady have a name? Gonna need to write that down in case you haul me off to jail."

"Fareeha." There was an inkling of shyness when she introduced herself, but it was quickly chased away by a puff of pride that swelled in her chest. The preteen rose her head up high, an arrogant smirk playing at her lips as she proclaimed; "Codename, Pharah! I am going to be an agent of Overwatch just like Mom when I grow up!"

Jesse's hand clasped over his heart; the silliest smile present on his face at just how precious she was. Although living on the base was not the best childhood he could think of, it beat his by miles. "Well I sure do need to schedule a dentist appointment because you've given this cowboy cavities, little lady. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Shame was not the emotion Fareeha felt, but rather merriment as she giggled at his dramatic antics. "Are you an agent too, now? I saw you come in with.. um, Mr. Reyes."

"Sort of," he explained, smile now a bit lopsided as he absent-mindedly touched his healing nose from the mention of his new commander. "I work for him now, that's true. What do you think of him, is he a tough kinda guy?"

Surprisingly, children's opinion on people can be scarily perceptive. He learnt that the hard way when he found not a single kid who was terrified of him, because of some, strange intuition. McCree was not an overly superstitious man (okay, he was – ) but he wouldn't call it far-fetched to say that they could easily read someone's aura.

Fareeha hesitated a little, uncertain how to word her opinion of him that would best describe the dark skinned man, before she settled on a short laugh. "He's very _very_ tough. Only Mr. Reyes can stand up to _my_ Mom and live."

He had no idea if that was a testament to Gabriel, or to her mother. Or both. It took all of McCree's willpower not to grimace, regardless.

"But I think he just _tries_ to be tough, cause I've seen him be nice. He buys me candy when Mom isn't looking and one time it was super cold, he didn't even get mad when I stole his hoodie. And he _always_ gets mad when someone takes his things." she finished, thinking that was an adequate sum of what she thought on the man and what he was like, before her eyes widened in realisation; "Oh! And he teaches me Spanish, too."

"Aint that the dandiest thing," quipped Jesse. As far as he could gauge from her opinion, his boss seemed to be a lot of bark and not a whole lot of bite. Of course, he was going to take her opinion with a grain of salt; she _was_ a child, and it would not surprise him if Gabriel operated under the same morals as he did concerning them.

Still, he wasn't going to steal anything from him any time soon. Just to be on the safe side. Everyone else was fair game (except, of course, the little ball of sunshine right in front of him.)

"Uh-huh." she agreed along, even if the teenager's southern drawl was hard to understand and she had no idea what he meant half the time. Fareeha peered up at him as he eased himself back up into a standing position, wincing when he thought she wasn't looking because of his bruised spine – he really ought to get his boss to teach him half the combat moves he pulled. Jesse blinked when a small hand tugged on his calloused one, and stared back down at her expectant face.

"So, are you a real cowboy? Can you ride horses? Do you have any stories?" she questioned, full of curiosity over the Deadlock Rebel turned agent. His face split into a grin, more than happy to oblige her incessant asking.

"Of course I am – Sure can do, little lady. I even got myself a horse, but she's no mare. No, she's encased in metal and purrs like the biggest cat you can think of. Deadlocks always rode in style." he reminisced, mind turned to his chopper that had likely been impounded or scrapped when Blackwatch seized all of his assets. For Fareeha's sake, he fought off the scowl on his face, before softening up and dipping low enough, curling his arms back and throwing a glance behind her.

"Saddle up, sheriff. I'll tell you a bunch of adventures I've had over some hot cocoa." The pure joy that exploded on her face was endearing, even if he grunted in pain when she collided with his sore spine and hooked her tiny arms around his neck. With a bit of a spring as he rose up, just to hear her giggle and he made sure she was secure against his back as he headed off towards the kitchen.

Little did the two of them know, Ana Amari stared at their retreating forms, dart gun cocked and the barrel tapping against the palm of her hand. She had witnessed the encounter from the very start – she always kept her eye on Fareeha, even if it seemed she was alone – ready to introduce herself to the teen.

She relaxed when it became obvious that Jesse, for all his bark and venom was nothing more than a child at heart himself. She didn't need to have any background as a doctor or as an eagle-eyed sharpshooter to know that. A hidden smirk worked it's way to her lips, knowing that Reyes had chosen the right recruit out of the line up to salvage.

Her instincts as a mother still urged her to follow them. Ana knew no harm would come to Fareeha, but the Deadlock Rebel had yet to earn her trust. Hell, it even took time before she let _Jack_ and _Gabriel_ watch over Fareeha when she had to go on missions, after all, preferring to leave her in Angela's care. At the very least, she did holster the gun back to her hip.

* * *

"So there I was," he began, voice low as Fareeha was entranced by his storytelling, sitting up on the counter with the rim of the cup to her lips, trying to sip it and missing just as it was out of reach. Jesse's own mug was set on the table behind him as he used his hands to help convey the story, grinning like a happy dog as he spun his tale;

"Six wanted men, all bigger and meaner than I am. All of 'em dead men walking. Used to leave playin' cards as their sign you're next." He reached into his pocket, slowly, observing how Fareeha stared intently at the action, before he pulled out a slightly torn looking ace of spades, resisting the urge to chuckle when she gasped loudly. He didn't want to ruin the tone.

"They.. Did they...?" she murmured, taking the card from his hand, before tossing it – Jesse caught it quickly – waving her hands about like she had touched something evil or dirty.

"Oh, you bet, little lady. Deadlocks had a bit of a deal gone sour with 'em, and of course they're gonna return the favour by axing off their most _handsome_ and deadliest gunslinger." McCree leaned forward, drawl dipping so low it was in a whisper. "But as you can tell, I'm the quick, and they're the dead."

"How did you do it?!" she blurted out. "That's six men – and you're one! No way, you're totally making this up! Only Mom could've pulled something like that off, because she's a sharpshooter. They wouldn't be able to get close enough."

"Well, I guess you don't want to hear how I did it then, if you're such a naysayer." McCree folded his arms childishly, eyes closing in finality even when she began to whine and protest, even so much as to lean forward and tug at the sleeves of his shirt to get him to answer. He cracked one eye open to view her trembling lip, and really, how could he do anything mean spirited to a face like that?

"Do enlighten us, Jesse. I would very much like to hear the end of this story." A cool voice cut him off before he could even begin, and tense did not even begin to describe the feeling that latched onto his muscles. A sense of dread trickled down his spine like icy water when he slowly turned his head to view the impossibly composed face of the Captain.

Fareeha was not intimidated in the slightest, wiggling off the counter after placing her cup down and running up to her. The mask of command slipped to a compassionate caring one as Ana swept down, gathering her child in her arms and peppering her with little kisses, much to the kid's chagrin.

" _Moooom_ ," she complained, bright pink in embarrassment. "Do you have to do that in front of.. _him_?"

Even if her voice was low and an all too obvious pointed look thrown at Jesse, the teenager tried not to fear the overwhelming presence of the legend in the kitchen. Ana Amari, alongside such names like Reinhardt, Jack Morrison and all the rest of them, were always spoken in hushed tones and angry hisses within his gang. They were respected for their skill and hated for their efficiency, though it had been a little too late to realise the true enemy had been Gabriel Reyes.

The older woman's brows arced upwards in a flawless display of false hurt. "You have never complained when Jack or Gabe see, Fareeha. What has this boy put in your head, hmm?"

"Haha, nothing, Mom. He's just telling me about some story."

Both pairs of eyes returned to Jesse's attention, and he could have sworn he felt sweat start to trickle on the back of his neck. Put in the spotlight, he could only flash an uneasy smile as his mind frantically scrabbled to come up with an appropriate ending that did not involve multiple killings and thus would not incur the wrath of Ana Amari, and was failing spectacularly.

"Er, well, you know. We.. that is to say, I – and the gang," he fumbled before stopping, collecting his words to the increasing bemusement of the mother. "Shoot, little lady, I don't think this story is even that interesting any more."

"You can't do that!" she huffed, but alas was silenced by the shushing of her parent, pressing a kiss against her hair on the top of her head. Fareeha pouted nevertheless, turning her head away from Jesse, as if disinterested in him now that he just turned out to be a big fibber. Ana set her down, one hand clasping her shoulder.

"Fareeha, dear, why don't you make some coffee and bring it to Jack and Gabe? They're waiting in the conference room. Do you remember what they take?"

The child nodded. "Yeah. One sugar and milk for Jack, and black for Mr. Reyes."

"Good girl."

McCree waited in agonizing silence as Fareeha made the cups of coffee, trying not to writhe under the expert scrutiny of the marksman. The child placed the drinks on one of the trolleys, making sure to sneak a couple of sugared bagels onto the bottom part for Jack's secret sweet tooth that everyone knew about even if he vehemently denied it and scurried off, taking only one moment to give the cowboy a wave before she left.

The moment she was out of earshot, Ana was upon him faster than a gavel sentencing him to hang, fingers woven tightly into his black shirt and eyes ablaze with motherly protection. It reminded him strongly of a bear fearing for her cub. His lips pulled back in a snarl, even if he tried to be respectful and tug himself off of her iron like grip.

"If you ever talk to my daughter like that again, you will _wish_ you had chosen to rot in maximum security." she hissed in low threat; "What were you thinking!? She is _**twelve,**_ and you were telling her a story about _murder_?"

"Technically, it was revenge -" he winced when her grip tightened and she shook him roughly. "Ma'am, please. I'm gonna go ahead and say she's a base baby – I'm sure she's overheard worse stuff. I know kids. She's probably eavesdropped on all of your debriefs."

"That is irrelevant," she grounded out. "I don't want you telling her anything about Deadlock and their affairs, nor any of your wild stories. Do I make myself clear, agent?"

"Crystal, ma'am." he testily stated, pulling away the second she let go to straighten his top. Ana nodded once, smoothing back her silky curtain of hair and offering the teenager a short, forced smile when he complied, looking too oddly pleased at himself being called an _agent_. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Excellent. Then we will get along swimmingly."


	40. R3 1

**Title** : R3 [1]

 **Characters:** Wi _nMonkey, Little Miss Goody Two Shoes, The Angel that did this to him,_ _¿Quién es 'Sombra'?_

 ** _Note:_**

...Estableciendo conexión...

* * *

"I'm warning you, Winston, if you spend another cent of Overwatch's limited budget on bulk purchases of peanut butter again, I am liquidating your assets. As you are the unofficial leader of this organization, you need to start making smart business decisions."

The gorilla rolled his eyes benignly at his creation's chiding digitized tone, idly wondering at what point did he install any kind of maternal figure personality within her. As if to make a statement, he looked straight into one of the many camera feeds to Athena and popped open the jar of peanut butter with his mouth, spitting out the lid for it to perfectly roll towards the collection of other lids.

"There is a fallacy in your statement, Athena." he pointed out, a grin working it's way on his rough, animal face; "I am not a business man. I am a scientist."

Though he was met with a brief, pregnant pause, Winston could feel the sigh that rolled off of the AI's processors, signified by his computer cursor turning into a turning circle of loading, before returning to normal. He chuckled heartily, thumping his chest once proudly as he believed to win this debate – one that cropped up very often – and rewarded himself with a spoonful of the peanut butter.

"I am compelled to remind you that you are not a young ape any more, Winston," her droning tone sparked back up as he indulged in his habit, his feet easily working like additional hands as he reviewed the equations he had roughly drafted regarding the software for Bastion's voice modulation – with much help from Mei and Hana – editing what he had now with a fresh mind and view.

"And that you should invest in a proper diet." His AI locked his notepad, much to his chagrin, to pull up various articles written by zoologists and other acclaimed brilliant humans of animal science, making sure to enlarge to pictures just so he couldn't avoid what was written. "You should incorporate a little more fruit and a lot more foliage."

"Do you take me for some kind of animal, Athena?" he asked, hurt, even if it was impossible to contain his grin at the joke that slipped out.

"I am adding ' _spend less time with Agent Tracer to avoid horrendous jokes and puns.'_ to your diary."

"Goodness, if it will get you to remove that, then I will get some fruit from the fridge – and I promise, I won't cover it in peanut butter." Though Winston could be a little awkward when it came to his hyperactive best friend, he adored her like a little sister and the thought, even a joking one, to do as Athena suggested tugged on his huge heartstrings.

"Condition accepted."

He snorted, but otherwise fished out a random lid from the pile, screwed it back on the jar of peanut butter and reluctantly heaved himself up off of his rather comfy tire for a chair, wandering out from his lab (that also served as his office and the hub of Athena's servers) to one of the many kitchens within the Watchpoint.

As her creator stepped out of the lab, Athena devoted her systems to the base maintenance and surveillance, spending a good portion of her processing power to monitor the vitals of the inhabitants, as well as maintaining the complex prison cell devoted for a certain black robed terrorist. It had taken a short while – and a bit of code – to get her to stop informing Mercy on her emergency channel that Reaper's vitals had flat-lined every other hour, as it was just part of his necrotic state.

It took nano-seconds for her to briefly check each of the cameras situated around Gibraltar to look around the base, and even then she would detect issues long before she gained visuals on it. There was a pause in her mandatory check when an anomaly cropped up, causing her to look at #504304, or more commonly known as the camera overlooking an empty hallway.

A scan of the area yielded nothing. If she were human, she would be puzzled by being directed to there, but as a powerful, ever learning AI, she marked it as a threat to investigate. Very, very slowly, subsystems started to hang, pause, or outright crash, but it was infrequent enough that it did not set her on alarm.

"I am adding ' _perform manual system check for Athena_ ' to Winston's diary." she intoned to herself. She usually could handle her own updates, but there were some things entirely out of her control – perhaps just to keep a leash on just how powerful the AI could grow, Athena was still dependant on Winston for many things.

The computer brought up his diary, only to pause in calculation when she saw an entry that had not been input manually, or by her.

 _ **Hello, Athena. I'm going to play a game, and you are my**_ _ **gamepad.**_ it read, and that was the last instruction Athena processed before her firewalls were extinguished, the virus quarantine was breached and her entirety was hijacked.

* * *

Winston nudged the door to the fridge shut with his knuckles, having salvaged a bunch of bananas that were explicitly labelled to be his, humming a tune to himself. The gorilla peeled the skin off of one, dumping it neatly into the trash and munching on it as he began making his way back to his lab, only to jump in fright and shout unexpectedly when ear-piercing sirens began going off throughout the base.

"A-A _L er T_ – " Athena's voice was horribly distorted, a glitching mess of binary noise as she tried to warn the agents of the impending doom. As she held control of most of the base's functions, save for a select few basic necessities like heating, things started going haywire. Winston threw away his meal, running as fast as he could charge on all fours, even leaping up and gripping the stair railings to speed up, trying to get to his lab as quickly as possible.

"b **r E** ACH of sE c ur i _T Y._ SOM -" Worryingly, she went completely silent even as the chaos continued around him, many agents and personnel stopping what they were doing to address the situations. Communications were handled by Athena's servers, and were effectively down, leading them unable to efficently talk with one another. Winston saw the inside of his lab in sight, with red, garbled code swimming past all of his computer screens, as well as a small image of what appeared to be a cartoon-y skull.

Unfortunately, the doors slammed shut, sealed and locked, just as he was about to rush inside.

"No!" he huffed loudly, smashing his beefy paws against the door to no avail. The gorilla reared up, putting all of his might into a single charge as he tried to plough the door down, but only succeeded in hurting his shoulder and causing a tiny dent in his armour. Anger coursed through his veins, yet no amount of pounding away on the door would make it open.

There had to be another way to access Athena's core, in case of this very thing. There was, but it was deeply embedded under Gibraltar, and given the explosion and various attacks happening since then, he had no idea how hazardous the underground network was. Winston pulled away from the door, paw pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't much choice, had he? Time was of the essence.

" **Your blood pressure is through the roof, monkey**!" a new voice overtook Athena's, holding the same digitized quality as hers had, but sounded relatively younger, more mischievous. There were hints of his AI's tone inflected within, but it was clearly being suppressed by the malevolent force.

"Who are you!? What have you done to Athena? What is your purpose?" Winston demanded, still walking as there was little need to stop when the creation he made was built to be ubiquitous. There were so many more pressing questions he wished to say, as well as a few select choice words. It didn't help the blaring sirens were starting to blend into white noise and was giving him, and likely the entire base, a headache.

" **Relax. Your computer girlfriend will be fine** **– and I'm just playing a game, really! I call it, '** _ **free the hostage**_ **.'** "

 _Definitely_ a lot younger than what he programmed his AI to be. Winston also noted the voice – feminine one – did not answer his question on who she was. He vaulted over the safety railings of the upper floor, sailing through the air with the aid of his jump back as he landed with a bit of a crash onto the ground floor, not stopping for a second. The latter part of her answer worried him greatly.

Reaper was very much still in their custody, but with this malicious force overtaking Athena, she could theoretically unlock his cell, and he could be wandering the very halls at this moment. The only saving grace is that she did not seem to have utilized any of the security turrets inbuilt within the AI's defence capabilities. His face paled – she must truly be toying with them, then.

"You won't get away with this!" he growled. The moment he has access to his creation's core, he could manually remove the virus or harmful code and take control.

" **Do you think I don't know where you're going, Winston**?" echoed the voice, eerie in how the playful tease drained out of her digitized vocals and was now a monotonous, single tone. " **You're only able to get that far because I have** _ **let**_ **you. But I don't want you ruining my fun just yet**."

Utter frustration worked its way into every fibre of his being as door after door shut in front of his face, until the point there was no route, save for breaking down some walls and making one himself, to the elevators to the underground. Winston was about ready to enter a state of primal, ferocious rage until the pain in his chest stopped him from doing so. The mystery assailant's comment about blood pressure sounded far more sinister now.

Regardless, he would not be content to stand around, even if she had pretty much boxed him in the hallway, and began trying to work on restoring the communications from the small tablet he kept on his person.

* * *

As chaos spread throughout the base, in another section of it, the only other agent Tracer managed to find that was not locked off behind an impossible door was Mercy. The sirens remained screaming in alert, to the point the time-controlling agent had stuck a pair of cheap ear buds into her ears and tried to drown out the sound with music from her phone. It didn't work, and only added to the growing noise, and she shut it off with vexation.

Angela's brows were steeped down, fretting over the situation, but as always she was composed in such chaos. Her position as first responding doctor required her to be a stalwart figure against the raging mayhem. Her fingers were curled into a tight fist close to her chest as she stormed onward, absolutely beside herself as she had been locked out of her clinic, which meant no access to her Valkyrie suit or Caduceus technology. Either a cruel move by the malicious force or a saving grace, but her emergency channel was the only working communication line, and it filled her with dread hearing empty static. If someone had an emergency, she would have to hear it, unable to do anything..

"I'm going to get a migraine," commented Tracer, thankfully pulling the woman out of her dire thoughts. She blinked ahead before Mercy could reply, only to smack straight into a door closing and curse violently. Lena's hand flew to her nose as a trickle of blood seeped out of one nostril, proclaiming a tactful " _Bollocks_!" as she did so.

Someone apparently found her misery and pain amusing, because a giggle overhead caused her to whip her head frantically. Angela clearly was not laughing, so it seemed like it came from the ceiling. That, or she really was hearing things in the droning sirens. The sight of blood seemed to trigger the miracle worker into some action, hastily jogging up to the younger woman and retrieving a small tissue for her. Lena dipped her head in gratitude, pressing it against her bloodied nose.

" **I couldn't resist myself, it was – the opportunity was too perfect.** " the owner of the giggle stated.

"Who the _bloody 'ell_ are you?" shouted the Brit, none too pleased to feel like she was helpless. Immediately she clipped off the twin pistols from their holsters, twirling them around and letting her accelerator renew them with pulse energy. It was more of a safety precaution than anything – she wasn't going to be shooting up at the ceiling without reason.

"Please," Mercy stressed, world-weary but alert nevertheless; "Can you _at leas_ t turn off the alarm?"

Bliss reached their ears as the voice complied, for now, the quiet was like paradise that was all too quickly snatched away by their tormentor speaking.

" **Don't you all have any** _ **different**_ **questions?** " petulantly she muttered. Though she was just a voice, Mercy could've sworn she could hear the smug smirk laced within it, taunting, daring. " **Not to matter. I know who you all are. Every little secret. Every little moment**."

Lena opened her mouth, likely to challenge the voice on that, but was swiftly shot down by Angela's immediate glare. Yes, there wasn't any need to tempt fate, even if the agent was hotheaded enough to try. Unfortunately, the voice had other plans, and decidedly reminded them of things that was firmly locked in the back of their heads – out of sight and out of mind.

" **You, Lena Oxton. Little miss goody-two-shoes, would never break a rule – well, except maybe** _ **one**_ **...** " the voice started with a sing-song, and Tracer couldn't help but feel like the hallways were like an elaborate cage. She hated the feeling of being contained, but every gaze she tossed yielded closed doors and the look of apprehension courtesy of Mercy. The pilot mentally tried to prepare herself for any emotional baggage relating to her tumultuous relationships, but was struck with a cool dread when the captor drawled;

" **How does it feel to know you couldn't stop the beginning of the Second Omnic Crisis, even though you were right there?** " It was delivered so pointedly, so precisely surgical that it felt like a knife cut deep into her, and began to twist with each additional word. Lena's mouth popped open, mind flooded with the assassination of Mondatta. " **How does the weight of hundred of thousands of dead** **men, women and children resting on your shoulders** **feel?** "

Her pistols drooped as Tracer's shoulders sagged, voice failing to even retort to such a comment. How could she? It was true, in her mind. She couldn't help but associate those words to the harsh chuckle Widowmaker had given her when the agent demanded why, so _desperately_ , so _confused._ Nervously, habitually, her hands ran through her hair wildly as she tried not to let her own crushing guilt impede her, and was failing spectacularly.

Many people had tried to tell her otherwise, that it was not her fault, yet Mondatta's death was something that was always pervasive in the back of her mind, always a reminder to dampen a cheery mood that was starting to feel more and more fake every day since that event. Coupled with the aftermath of the Slipstream incident, the tempest that was Reyes during the original Overwatch and that, she believed she earned the right to frown once in a while.

It was Mercy who spoke for her, voice rising in unsmiling sternness. "How dare _you_ -"

" **How dare** _ **I,**_ **says the angel who played God!** " shouted she, a surge of bitter callousness overpowering the coltish tone of before; " **You tried to create an Archangel Michael, didn't you? A glorious successor to your brilliance, to champion your research and technology!** "

Mercy was not a woman to be browbeaten, but with such a specific topic being brought up, her hand flew to her mouth, covering it in horror as her eyes widened. She knew what was coming, vividly – it was one stain on her soul she wished she could correct, to atone for. So many things had been at stake, her credibility as a doctor, her pioneering and breakthrough of new medical technology, the high velocity emotions up in the air given who the patient was..

" **But you failed. You got a broken little** _ **king**_ **instead, ripped wings and no glory left. But he** _ **was**_ **an angel. An angel of death**." the voice said in a way that sounded matter-of-fact. " **And you discard** **ed** **him. At least it proved** _ **informational**_ **, no?** "

"I – I never.. H-He escaped, after I –" her words stumbled over themselves, part of her urging that she did not need to justify anything to some mystery person, but yet Angela couldn't help but feel as if she was trying to reason with herself. Her hand moved up from her mouth to cover her face, body shaking very slightly as she fought off the urge to let the overwhelming feelings of the past get to her. She only vaguely felt Tracer wrap her arms around her supportively, glaring up at the ceiling in distraught.

There was silence for the longest time as the two huddled, disturbed by the extent of knowledge this being had regarding them, until finally it spoke once more.

" **Mm! Food for thought. I hope you don't mind staying here while** _ **padre**_ **makes his escape**."

When it seemed the voice had left them, Tracer pulled away from the trembling doctor; part of her locks covering over her eyes and unhooked the pulse bomb from her device encased around her chest. The charged was getting close to maximum. She'll make sure to apologise to Winston in advance for the exploded door, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

* * *

...Terminando conexión...

 _Huh, that was weird. I guess the notes are down here, now? Must be a bug with the site [shrug]_

 _This is PART 1 of 2. I took the advice a reviewer gave me to split the bigger, story-based ones into multiple parts so I can adequately explain/go into detail about things. This one is also a mixture of dark and very AU, because this draws heavily on headcanons relating to that mystery voice. I wonder who she is?_

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 _\- Ana & her babies interacting because yes, accepted._

 _-More young-related things, McCree & Mercy accepted._

 _As always, thank you all for the kind reviews and stick with me on this one. I hope it really will be worth it because I am super proud with this chapter + the ideas for Part 2. - Guixi_


	41. R3 2

**Title:** R3 [2]

 **Characters:** _DVa, Vanilla Ice Cream, Old hag, Padre, Sombra, (Monkey, How is this man a legal adult?, Justice should take a nap, etc, etc.)_

 _ **Note:**_

...Estableciendo conexión...

* * *

Before the madness had started, Hana Song had been tending to her MEKA unit, head stuck under the hood as she wore a (fashionable) jumpsuit littered with numerous promotions of her sponsors. It was not the reinforced latex of her pilot's suit, rather a more loose fitting, pink overalls as she worked on maintenance. The design of the unit was impressive; as keeping with the upkeep couldn't be any more difficult than a tricky combo on a controller.

All pilots were drilled with basic instructions in the first place. It was merely part-and-parcel of becoming a MEKA pilot. Tightening another bolt, she pulled back from under the hood, grabbing the dirtied oil rag to wipe at her face, only to grumble in heated Korean when she smeared the inky substance all over her cheek. Eventually, she tossed the rag back into the bucket of various tools, slipping down to sit on one of the vehicle's arms, which was composed of the fusion cannon and drew the lunchbox lovingly prepared by Ana.

When she popped it open and saw a sorry excuse of a sandwich and random biscuit brands she recognised as American, the look on Hana's face turned flat as she read the quick note of apology from Soldier: 76, explaining that Ana had been _pre-occupied_ and he had made it instead. With her index finger and thumb, she picked up the crumbling sandwich of cheese, ham and lettuce, watching it slop back down into the plastic bag of it's container.

"Gross." she commented, and was content to munch on a shortbread biscuit instead.

It was then, that the sirens blared and Hana choked on the piece she tried to swallow, heart pounding rapidly in her chest in fright as a buzzing feeling rushed to her limbs to fight or flight. She forced herself to calm down, hacking up the offending piece of biscuit and spitting it out into the provided napkin, throwing her lunchbox haphazardly into the bucket and gaze flickering in concern

That sounded like the noise that was made for intruders, so she slammed down the hood of her MEKA, flipping open the tinted green window of the cockpit and crawled inside. It was very roomy, allowing Hana to easily twist around to face the front, hands gripping the controller sticks, thumb gracing over the green buttons of her defence matrix. At the very least, she flipped a few switches to drown the outside noise from the incessant alarm.

"Ugh, I didn't unplug comms, did I?" she said to herself, trying to establish any connection to the communication channels, only to be met with error after error. Mercy's emergency line was on a separate server than the main one, but was met with only distorted static when she tried to access it. That immediately set her on edge, piloting her MEKA forward as the tools, lunchbox and other assorted things fell off it to the floor.

She couldn't get anything, and it was starting to agitate her. No vitals, when clearly she herself was very much alive, no map, no area scan, no communication, even trying to bring up her web browser gave her cursor an infinite load time with a blank page.

" _J_ _ja jeung na_!" Hana spat, diverting her attention to moving out of the bay, carefully navigating around the much bigger jet planes and dropships. Her mech was not really built for wandering around the halls of the base, but the architects had enough foresight to have it wide enough for her to be able to move decently. The mech itself was not even that big, compared to what it was designed to do.

She felt aimless, uncertain of where she should go even if she kept her eyes peeled for suspicious behaviour. The lack of any personnel or agents running rampant over the alarm – which now had been switched off – coupled with many ominous locked doors made it feel eerily like a ghost town. Back when she fought the Omnic terrorizing South Korea, she remembered how empty and lonely it had felt with the population evacuated and only the sounds of her fellow gamers and stream to keep her company.

Hana allowed herself to shudder. There was no person to see her weakened state, and her cocky arrogance dropped to one of discomposure. Thus, she turned to the one thing that always comforted her – the stream.

Her left hand moved up from the control stick to one of the switches up on the dashboard, pressing it and filling the inside of her cockpit's visor with transparent, green windows, chat boxes and a small red light to inform her that she was live. Nothing appeared to be loading, given the Korean text reading that she had no internet connection.

As she was about to shut it off, the monitor flickered, and instead of the battlefield being reflected back at her; she was met with a sugar-skull like design. It was rather cute, stylized, and even animated. However, the priority over how such a thing was displaying in the first place took far more precedence than the cuteness of the icon.

"Am I being raided by another streamer? You're not gonna leech off any of my fans." she flippantly stated, playing off the incident with cool indifference as, whoever was watching, better know that she was Dva, Korean celebrity, star pilot of the MEKA unit. Her persona came to her naturally, and any trepidation slid off her easily like dripping water.

" **Oh my gosh, it really** _ **is**_ **Dva!** " the voice said, the sockets of the skull turning into thin, raised brackets. " **I can't believe it! I'm your biggest fan!** "

Whoever this hacker was, Hana did not want to anger them. A practical approach overtook her – maybe Soldier's training and advice really had paid off, somewhere down the line – as she stuck a piece of gum into her mouth, chewing in boredom as her lids fluttered half closed. No viewers, no moderators, just she and this skull person. Might as well keep their attention on her while she tried to use some of the computing skills she picked up from Bastion's project to good use.

"Hah! Well, you know how to grab my attention, Miss… Mister… ?" On a separate system within the mech, Hana began trying to trace the IP of the hacker, keeping her eyes focused on the webcam to not give any hint or indication of what she was doing.

" **Oh,** **nevermind that**." the voice tittered happily. " **I've actually moderated your stream once or twice, back when you fought that Omnic. I won't tell you my username, though!"**

"Pffft, you're no fun." said Dva. She risked a glance to the monitor to her left, unable to stop a grimace as her IP search yielded nothing – it was a dummy one, a randomly generated location and numbers, and all of the addresses logged onto her system was too vast to try and compare them now.

" **Says the spoil sport trying to track my IP**." Hana's hand immediately retracted away from the console, as if the keys burnt, like the pink flush on her cheeks at being caught. The skull icon on the stream bobbed up and down, likely symbolizing laughter. " **Good effort, though!** **Say, I've been keeping up to date with that project of yours. You know, the one with Bastion? Have a look at this.** "

Hana reluctantly watched the monitors fill up with.. computing equations? They flashed on screen, before being replaced with far more easier to decipher visuals. She didn't comprehend it fully, but after genuinely taking the time to read it, she realised it looked to be a solution on the software problem they ran into concerning his voice modulation. Her brows furrowed deeply in confusion, gaze moving back to the skull. As grateful as she was for the assistance, there were far more pressing matters like the intruder, and she really can't be dealing with a playful hacker right now. She began piloting her mech once more, huffing quietly as she was met with closed doors. Was the base on lock-down?

"How can I even trust this?" pointed out the Korean teen. "No offence, but you hacked my stream. Why would I accept any code from _you_?"

" **You'll just have to take my word for it**." the voice remained to be peppy, the cartoon-y skull looking far more taunting the longer it stuck around on her screen. " **Think of it as a..** _ **donation**_ **for** **all of your efforts**."

Growing increasingly irritated at the presence, Hana's prideful persona sunk further in her tone, upper lip curling back at she sneered at the web camera in disdain. "Look, it was nice to meet you, but I need to focus on catching the bad guy, mkay? Think you could give my stream back?"

" **Hmmm.."** the voice considered. **"I'll give you your stream back, and even tell you** **how to stop all of this** **,** _ **if**_ **you play a game with me."**

No matter what, Hana did not back down from the fight or a challenge, nor would she be stopped by doors. Although it would be nice not to tear up the entire base trying to search for the assailant, the sound of her fusion cannons pelting the door was muffled by the sound being cancelled within the cockpit. Her mech's guns made short work of it, and she smashed through the broken remains.

"G _eim-eul hamyeon igyeoyaji._ " she said confidently, rising to the bait, flashing the icon with her trademark grin. "No game is a match for Dva!"

" **Great!"** enthusiastically the skull seemed to beam at her, if that was possible. **"** **Let's get started, shall we?"**

Hana yelled, startled when turrets emerged from their sockets in the wall, riddling her mech with bullet holes of both lead and pulse ammunition. The voice's icon was only a small presence now, removing from the main cockpit view and onto one of the side monitors and giving Dva access to all of her MEKA's functions, such as monitoring the weapon's heat capacity and hull damage.

"APM _jom ollyeo bolkka_?" she clicked her tongue, thumbs pressed into the green buttons of her control sticks, activating the defence matrix. It came into a large cone in front of her, absorbing all of the flak and fire. It was not Hana that was taking control, but her personality of Dva. The excess of Korean she uttered here and there spawned from another nervous habit, but right now, she was in the zone.

The Korean celebrity had no idea why Athena's defence protocols were targeting her, but the sense of dread turning in her stomach suggested that maybe this hacker had done more than mess with her show. Not to matter, corrupted AI or not, nothing could stand in the way between her MEKA and victory!

* * *

As the mech pilot fought valiantly against the safety measures, Winston finally had made a breakthrough on his tablet, cracking a part of the encryption that the mystery voice had locked down, breaching the communications and feeding it's server to a backup one. He grinned widely in success, though it did not last long as everyone's panicked, rushed voices sprung up over the line the second it went live, and he loudly cleared his throat.

"One at a time!" he barked, unknowingly commanding respect in such a dire situation and falling into the role he unofficially possessed. "I know many of you have been caught unaware by this unexpected attack but we must keep a calm, level-head about it. The most important thing I'm concerned about is if you are all safe and unharmed."

" _Mercy and I are trapped in the hallway just outside the east medical wing_ ," he heard Tracer piped up first, chest tightening at how haggard and drained she sounded. " _My pulse bomb is ready, so I'm going to give this smarmy git a taste of her own medicine._ "

Winston was about to warn her not to do anything rash when another agent took her place.

" _I've been locked in the gym with Pharah. Was sparrin' when this bull started to buck."_ McCree drawled. " _Lucio's with us too, he's not taking this whole trapped in a single room thing well. Fareeha's workin' on calming down._ _We haven't got any of our gear since the locker room's been shut off from us too_."

" _B-Bastion is with me!_ " squeaked Mei. " _U-Um, is it.. normal for it to be in it's sentry mode? A-Ah! I think it's protecting me. I will be safe, then._ "

"Anyone else?" fretted Winston, but there were no response from the majority, which indicated that they were either busy, hurt (heavens, he hoped not – ) or his code-breaking skills were not as good as he thought they were. At the very least, he knew that Genji and Hanzo were not in the base, sorting some family business out in Hanamura, with Zenyatta acting as a median between the two should things go sour.

" _Jack and I are safe_." Winston breathed a huge sigh of relief from hearing Ana's nonplussed tone. " _We're in his office. He's trying to brute force the door down with minimal –_ "

There was an explosion heard over the channel, with the ape immediately ushering out a; "Ana? Ana!"

A pause. A stifling silence, then the gruff cadence of the once commander went on the line. " _Door's open._ _I have an idea where our prisoner is heading off to, but we need to hurry. Hana was in there last, and given the base entering lock-down, she could be still in there. Winston, can you get her on the line?_ "

He tapped repeatedly on the keys of his tablet that had been specially made for his paws, but any attempts at trying to contact Hana yielded with an error message, denying his access, followed by symbols of that damnable skull icon. He huffed, infuriated by the situation especially at the prospects of their youngest member being alone – with her mech, granted – with the dangerous terrorist. He could understand Jack's concern.

"I can't contact her at all," he regretfully informed. He heard the ex Strike Commander mutter out a series of curses under his breath, along with the faint sound of jingling metal – he was likely sprinting, faded, muted words emitting from Ana about how he should slow down. "This.. hacker seems to be pre-occupied. I'm going to try and head to the basement to manually shut and reprogramme Athena."

* * *

"You always had the flair for dramatics, _niña._ "

Reaper did not run, or worry or even seem all too concerned with the chaos, strolling – casually, even – down the halls as the doors that blocked his path seemed to part and open for him, as if his very presence demanded that they do. That image was further compelled when the hacker altered the light fixtures lining the walkways to dim, only to flicker into life when he passed them. He rolled his eyes.

" ** _I'm_ dramatic? You haven't been without a mirror long enough to remember what you look like, right, old man?" ** the voice oh so brazenly stated. **"There _is_ method to my madness, _padre,_ and I am always here.. or there.. when you need me to be."**

"Impertinence best not be within your method, Sombra." scorned the man, silver-tipped talons gracing over the handle of his weighty shotguns, cocking them ready as he pulled them out from the nether of his cloak, trailing wisps of black smoke and inky mist dispersing off of them. His head tilted ever so slightly, like a stalking owl as he added; "And I have ordered you not to call me _'padre.'_ "

" **I find it hard to take orders from someone who has little power over me."** He wasn't surprised to hear her tone was deadly serious, but he found himself uncaring enough to get irked over the chaotic unpredictability enigma that was attached the name 'Sombra.' After all, he vaguely had a grasp of how she worked, and had likely rejoiced in all of the new players in her strange, ever-changing game that only she knew the rules to.

" **What do you have? A name. And I? I have your _entire life._ "**

"You should join Ana up there on your humble high horse." he muttered, letting the weight of his shotguns rest on his shoulder as he walked. Reaper was content to let Sombra believe she was in control. He knew a lot more about her than he'd let on, because she worked best thinking she had the world in the palm of her hand.

" **Hah!** _ **Ana Amari?**_ **Now isn't that a woman!** " giggled the hacker, cheeky and playful right down to her core. " **I can't believe she fell for someone who was plainer than off-brand vanilla ice-cream. Jack only got interesting when he was reborn as Soldier**."

"We are not having this conversation," flatly Reaper grounded out, rounding the corner and finding the aircraft hangars in sight. The distant noise of gunfire did little to dissuade him as he surged onwards. He simply could not wait any longer to get out of the purgatory of the base. Yet the paradise before him was snatched away by the sound of a familiar voice growling;

"You're not going anywhere!"

Reaper did not even bother with pleasantries as he turned around and point blank began shooting at Soldier: 76, whom had the foresight to dive out of the way and fill the narrow space with a burst of pulse bullets. The two exchanged fire for a brief while until the old habit of their equality was kicking in – neither of them hesitated, neither of them landed a hit, and it was oddly fascinating to watch the two duel so fluidly.

Ana's aim was legendary, but even she stalled taking her shot with Jack ducking and weaving out of the generous spread of Reyes' shells, constantly dipping in and out of her sight. Her worn lips pursed into a thin line, falling into a crouch and steadying her rifle, good eye firmly looking through the scope. Though shooting Jack would have little consequences given the type of darts she used, the distraction could be just that edge that Reaper needed to break the stalemate.

"Give up," Reyes hissed, shadowy smoke pooling at his feet the longer the combat droned on, throwing himself to the side to avoid a triplet of helix rockets sailing from the secondary part of Jack's rifle. He knew that the fight was a pointless waste of energy, because they would never best one another. As he tried to close the distance between them, shorten the spread of his guns, the man backed up, sending off suppressing fire to try and deter him from doing so.

"I could use some support here," Morrison snapped, hard-trained not to look behind him to check on Ana as his focus was devoted entirely on the enemy in front. From past his shoulder, Reaper spotted the squatting sniper who curled her lip back in fierce display.

"Get out of my line of sight, then, _habibi_." she chewed out, though far more coolly than her once superior. Ana regarded Reaper carefully for a moment, single eye unblinking as they stared each other down, even though the Talon agent was still very much dodging out of Jack's fire and returning it in kind.

"Trouble in paradise?" mocked Gabriel, cruelly as the creeping mist seeped along the floor, covering it like a dark blanket. It had been far too late for the sniper to proclaim or Jack to realise that it swept under their feet in his preparation for an attack. It felt like thousands of tiny hands clutched at Jack's boots and ankles, forcing him to fidget in place as Reaper swung the jagged edges of his shotgun's handle across his face.

"Jack!" Ana called involuntarily as it slashed; the butt of the gun's handle knocking off his visor and exposing his scarred face to the killer, letting him see the fiery determination swirling in his cloudy eyes. A fresh laceration now adorned his cheek, dangerously close to the bottom eyelid. Reaper wanted to see the bane of his existence extinguished in front of him, to see the light dim from his eyes and his limp body to be smothered under his mist.

A dart embedded into Reaper's neck, causing him to grunt, but it was painless. In his current state, he felt nothing but the hatred that infested inside of him, unaffected as her darts hit him time and time again with precision accuracy. Jack's sight may fail him without his visor, but his hand latched onto the wrist of Reaper's gauntlet, even as he dropped one shotgun in favour of closing his talons over his rival's neck.

Ana desperately tried to get closer, to do something, but with the fog, it felt like she stuck in tar that threatened to engulf her. Morrison struggled, breathing thinning as he tried to wrestle Gabriel's grip off of him.

"No, you're going to suffer, Jack, just like I have." said Reaper, revelling in the disgusting, insidious feeling of the years of hate. "And sweet, _kind_ , Ana. You get the privilege of watching."

In his stupor of revenge, there was one, small little detail he could never have accounted for.

"Get away from _**my**_ father you _mee-cheen-nom!"_

Reaper's head snapped to attention, only to witness a large, pink mech heading straight towards him, colliding with his body and taking him down for a ride at the length of the hall. The smoke receded immediately, following the boosting MEKA. Jack fell to one knee, greedily gulping breaths of air as he gingerly nursed his neck, fumbling as he tried to find his fallen visor. Everything was blurry shapes and dark spots, but the dark skin and ashen hair of Ana came into view.

"Shit.." swore Morrison, snapping the visor back on when the sniper offered it to him, staring after the two that were still barrelling down. He tried to stand, shaky, and felt little shame in accepting his second-in-command's assistance, distributing most of his weight onto her. Though vastly smaller, Ana had little trouble keeping him up.

He appreciated Hana's timely arrival, but her mech was a lot larger than she thought it was, having clipped the commander as it flew past. Not to matter, he was more focused on catching up with the pair, even if his run was more like hobbling with Ana's help.

It was hard to latch off from the green tinted view of the cockpit going at the speed she was, and Reaper twisted his gaze to look firmly inside to glower at the pilot – was that a _child?_ Snarling behind his mask, the utter rage that washed and rolled over her barely even had a mark against his temper. He was going to make sure she regretted interfering.

His free hand pierced into the screen, shotgun struggling against the velocity as he slowly, but surely, brought the barrel over to rest directly onto the window, mask touching the protective window in intimidation, voice dropping into a life-threatening, short bark.

"Did you not know that children should be seen, not heard, little girl? You will be silenced –"

Hana's hands were a flurry of motion, devoting all of the power of her MEKA into the boosters, completely shutting off the defence matrix, the guns and the vitals before shattering the glass casing that covered the button for self destruct. She wasted no time in pressing it before making a note to _scream_ out;

"Yeah?! Well silence _**THIS**_!"

Dva ejected out of her MEKA, the fusion core that powered the machine within forced to work overtime until the final moment where it would implode. Hitting the floor, she rolled to the balls of her feet and sprinted away from the impending doom, wasting no time to talk as she gripped onto the arms of the veteran soldiers and began dragging them along with her, diving into one of the empty rooms that Sombra had neglected to close off.

The explosion was deafening, causing white noise to pound in their ears. The building shook, groaning in protest until it found release with the ceiling starting to cave in where the mech had eventually came to a crashing stop, and, unfortunately, blocking off the aircraft hangar entirely with debris, rubble and chunks of metal. The smoke permeated the halls, filling it entirely with thick, acrid gas.

Eventually the smoke subsided, greeting them with the sight of the chaos caused by the MEKA self-destructing. All of the hours poured into restoring Gibraltar into what it was before the fall, all of the effort spent reclaiming or salvaging resources and vehicles to add to their arsenal, now crushed and lost in the wreck.

Jack, in that moment cared little about keeping up appearances and threw his arms around Hana, drawing the now trembling girl into his arms in fatherly embrace as she heaved in anxiety, her online personality cracking under the intense pressure of what she had just done, the thought that Morrison could have _died_ had she arrived later, and the aftermath did not even bear thinking about – the destruction was enormous.

" **That's one way to make an exit."** the hacker's voice broke through the moment rather jarringly in note.

But it was enough to finally get Hana to bury her head against Jack's chest, hands balled into tiny fists against his jacket as he soothingly murmured gentle but meaningless words. She barely even registered Ana's softly stroking her hair to try and calm her, too.

" **Mmm. Guess my work here is done, then. What a party! I hope we can do this again sometime."** After that, the voice promptly went silent, all control over Athena's functions ceased as the lock down was slowly lifted and allowing quadrants to be accessed again. It was said that Reaper only needed just one small cell to survive. A single, _insignificant_ , tiny cell, drifting like a particle in the wind, manoeuvring through cracks of the rubble and fallen foundations and out of the sizeable hole the imploding fusion core created.

Ana gazed away from the two, staring at the inaccessible hangar. She felt as if it was merely the beginning of what awaited them in the war.

* * *

...Terminando conexión...

 _WHEW. Part 2. This little arc is done. There's, a lot, to address, but it will be in time, and with requests. So bear with me on that front, but otherwise, I hope you enjoyed it. I know some may be sick and tired of the Sombra things, but I'm glad you stuck around for it anyway. If anything, Reaper inevitably would've made his escape, this is just how it went. There's a lot of headcanons being drawn in once again, from Soldier having poor eyesight (not blind per say, but definitely should get some damn glasses) to Hana finally in combat. Sorta._

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 _\- Sombra calls Reaper father in the same way Hana calls Soldier: 76 dad. If it's true or not and in what context.. that's left for debate._

 _-Young Pharah definitely had a precarious crush on McCree (like how young boys/girls would have on a teacher or someone older than them), and yes, Ana knew.  
_

 _-Ciri, you have completely blown me away with your indepth review, I'm honestly floored myself. Your kind words are just - wow, thank you so much. I'm honestly just happy my portrayal of a character that has very little on her was taken so well, since I had been nervous about this short arc and how people would take to the use of Sombra. Again, I can't thank you enough for yours, and many other's continued support. To answer your questions in short, Athena's physical systems is far too deeply routed underground to be moved, therefore they chose the Watchpoint to unofficially make their HQ, like the Swiss one was. Not sure on the prompt (bc of continued use of Sombra)_

 _\- At least I didn't make music out of her lines, so that counts for something, right? Ahah.. aha.. yeah sorry about that._

 _This note has gone on long enough, so I'll end it here and clear up any potential confusion in the chapters to come. - Guixi._


	42. Reeling

**Title** : Reeling

 **Characters:** Mercy, Soldier: 76

 _ **Note:** All of those that requested Mercy76, here is your chapter. Just a forewarning, this chapter once again deals with some dark themes, but I finally get to expand upon this little HC. You'll see._

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 _ **-** There is going to be a few moments of dealing with the aftermath, but either if that's a whole chapter or a passing mention depends on the request. I don't want to focus too long on a "plot point" in a series that can be read unconnected, so those who skipped certain chapters can read and not be _totally _lost. **  
**_

 _-Natzo, that is some pretty damn acute observation, based entirely on just how I've wrote Hana to react in certain situations. I won't confirm or deny, but,_ wow.

 _-Basically, what Soldier has is cataracts. He doesn't know why he has it as early (as it normally appears for humans at around 65+) but, that's the gist of it._

 _Thank you all for the kind reviews, I'm honestly glad many of you liked my portayal of Sombra (as her inclusion was really what worried me with how it'd play out) so yeah! I hope you enjoy this, too! - Guixi_

* * *

An hour after the hacker's presence had left them, a sombre atmosphere took over the entire base.

Many things were left unsaid, gazes avoided over her words, content not to face the truth of them against their fellow agents and focus was shifted less to organizing a retaliation, but more on accounting for the losses. The destruction of the hangar (and by extent several aircrafts, too) and Athena being out of commission for a few days as Winston worked day and night in her central core room had set the peacekeeping force back thousands of man hours.

The personnel were instructed into reclamation, sifting through the wreckage, though extreme caution had to be taken. The Watchpoint was old, and had they not previously fortified the base due to Jamison's... _experiments_ , then all of them doubted that they would be standing in the base, now. Hana was absolutely beside herself with guilt over causing this, as there were certainly other options in dealing with Reaper than _self-destructing her MEKA._

It had been done out of impulse. A white-hot rage had taken over control, unstoppable, no second thoughts. The image of the black-robed man standing over Jack like the Grim Reaper, ready to collect his soul had triggered something within the Korean teen. The colour and life being drained out of anyone's face was not something she wanted bear witness a second time. No matter how many meaningless reassurances the older man mumbled, it fell deaf on her ears.

There wasn't much that can be done about it now. It happened, and she merely had to face the consequences of such an action.

Consequences could wait, however, as Mercy was the first to offer plain instructions – she wanted everyone in her clinic for a mandatory checkup, and given the zero tolerance in her tone and the flinty, steely look in her eyes, there was no room to argue or wiggle out of the appointment. She had checked over the agents very briefly when they filtered in, assigning doctors and nurses left and right as the medical wing was abuzz with life.

The doctor handled the more pressing matters, namely, the agents that showed any injury. Soldier: 76 had been adamantly denying any assistance the second Ana made it known that he had taken a hit and been strangled, and walked with a bit of a limp, but caved in the second Mercy had forcefully snatched off his visor, looked him straight into his clouded blue eyes with her own tempest of sapphire, before they shifted to inspect the laceration.

"Come with me." it sounded more like a command than a request. With a grunt, he hauled himself off of the plastic chair and hobbled behind her striding gait, holding open the private cubicle's door for him as he entered. Angela gave Ana an appreciative nod, which the older woman returned. Mercy followed in after Jack, closing and locking the door and instructing him to sit up on the bed.

The bed depressed with his weight, the old dog rubbing the back of his neck as he observed Mercy silently stalk over towards the sink and began sanitizing her hands, his visor and faceplate tossed unceremoniously to the table by the bed. As she was rather close, Jack could make out the stress that weighed on her shoulders like heavy bricks, a strict, cold professionalism taking a hold of the motherly medic as she seemed.. plagued by her own thoughts.

"Angela.." he started, though was swiftly cowed into shutting up when she flayed him with a look that encompassed all of the stress from the situation, all of the worry she had felt and he could've sworn he saw overwhelming grief and guilt intermingled, though he had no idea why.

"If you are even entertaining the thought of letting it scar, then Ana Amari is not the only woman you should fear." she stated, flinging open the cupboards and retrieving a variety of gels, clothes, a bowl for liquid, dumping them on the table and wheeled it closer to Jack with her foot, before heading behind him to activate the nano-biology technology within the bed.

The older man let out a rueful laugh, a short, rumbling sound that came deep within his throat. He did not fear Ana in the _slightest,_ but it did remind him of an instance. He shared it, hoping it would lighten the stifling mood; "Funny. I had asked McCree why he only showed respect for her. He looked me dead in the eye, as serious as you can be, and said _'every child should_ _respect_ _their abuela.'_ Never understood it, myself."

He frowned when her only response was a noise of non-committal, running the tap until it was lukewarm and filling the bowl with the liquid. Her pace began to gradually wind down as she finally sat on the bed beside him, nudging the table closer and placing the bowl upon it, soaking a piece of cloth, squeezing out the excess and capturing Jack's head with slightly damp fingers steadying his head.

"If there's something on your mind.." he prompted, only wincing once when the cloth washed over the cut, cleaning up the blood that had spilt and started to crust, as well as his redder than normal cheeks thanks to it dripping. Angela pursed her lips, but otherwise remained focus on the task at hand.

"Nothing is on my mind." she lied, gaze flickering – as if, conflicted, that she would stoop so low to do so. A world-weary sigh escaped her, muscles in her face softening as the professionalism cracked just a tad, going back on her statement.

" _Everything_ is on my mind, Jack. I am started to regret haven taken that single day off work. When I returned, it felt as if my workload had duplicated. My staff are competent, but they're not.."

"You?" he supplied. Mercy was beyond the average doctor, being a prodigy in the field of medical science and had pioneered many breakthroughs within that to be used worldwide. She also happened to be the strongest woman he ever had the pleasure to meet, but it seemed even she had days and moments of weakness, of where reality nudged her and she became smothered by her own tension.

She gave a slight nod. "Right. Then this.. _madness_ happened. It has.. opened old wounds, shall we say."

A fluffy white brow shot up in confusion at her words. He was unaware she had any emotional scarring, given how well she could handle herself and adversity. Jack didn't need perfect vision to see the remorse that pooled in her eyes, the motions against his face feeling far more slack and autonomous than before. It was gone as quickly as it came, with Mercy pulling her hand away and reaching for the tube of gel.

"Please, remove your chestpiece. If you are uncomfortable with me viewing -" she began to request, not a single hint of a blush or blunder. Jack was in typical gear when he confronted Reaper, and merely grunted in affirmation, understanding the necessity.

"No need. Those hospital gowns are too flimsy for my liking, anyway."

Angela made no comment, merely stepping away and allowing him to undress. She gathered his medical report, tugging the pen that had been nesting in her hair to begin filling in those forms. It didn't take long until Jack had removed his armour piece, and by extension, his jacket too, rubbing the back of his neck again and hissing softly at how much it ached. He sorely underestimated Reaper's grip, and his talons had cut deep into his flesh.

Mercy returned, patting the pillow for him to rest his head upon so she had access to his neck in a way that would not be uncomfortable for him. He complied, and resisted the urge to shudder when the cool substance of the gel began coating the angry looking black-blue bruise. Morrison stared up at the ceiling, for once hating the oppressive silence between them.

He sighed. "You're worse than Hana."

That actually halted her, for a second, before she continued with her care, unresponsive.

"I don't know when and at what point you got it in your head that you have to shoulder whatever burden you have alone," the man added with a bit of bite, "But I can't believe _**I**_ have to be the one to tell you that you don't, Angela. It doesn't make you any weaker."

"You are the last person I would tell."

Jack opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, her words slicing into the thickened emotional hide he had and leant up off of the pillow to pin a questioning glare at her. It dropped the second it came when he saw just how asunder she looked, free, clean hand cradling the lower half of her face as she stared despondently to the ground. His brows furrowed, and he shuffled closer, gently touching her shoulder.

Angela shot off the bed, as if his tentative touch had been like red-hot fire, dizziness flooding through her system as she wobbled over to the sink, the sound of the ex-commander's alarm like static to her as she stumbled and gripped the edges of it, body now trembling. She was fighting a losing battle, breathing erratic as she hopelessly tried to regain her composure.

But she couldn't. Her mind was swarming with the taunting words of the hacker, the actions she had done in the past to achieve what she had all simultaneously reminding her of the path she had to take, the hours and long nights, the missed childhood, the true reasoning of why she became a doctor in the first place buried under a decade of guilt over one instance.

She had been so young, so naïve, fuelled on the desire to tamper with things that should have been out of her control, and the result of her actions were a shell of a man so consumed with rage, hatred and agony – she had done that. Angela had _created_ that.

 _It's all my fault.. … all of the agents that have died at his hands.. they might as well have been mine. He didn't even want to live… but that didn't matter, did it? I am so selfish.. I was so focused on bringing him back, it's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all –_

Soldier's words pierced through the veil of her suffocating self-pity, like a stalwart figure offering light amidst the sea of darkness; "It's okay to let go. I'm here."

For once in her life, Angela took down the walls around her and broke down sobbing. It was not a graceful, composed little cry, no, it was violent, with fat tears streaming down her cheeks as the sobs racked out of her body, face red as her hands tried to clutch and cover, before abandoning that idea and allowed Jack to take her into his arms, rubbing small circles on her back as she buried her head against his collarbone.

He made no fuss about the wetness of her tears trickling down his exposed chest; far more preoccupied in letting Angela finally express something for herself other than constantly caring about others. Jack knew that Mercy was overcome with grief, and this was merely the first step to accepting the past, instead of boxing it away to be out of sight and out of mind. He figured that she would tell him what it was about when she was ready; but he didn't expect it so soon.

"I .. I am so sorry." she croaked, heaving as the utter weight of opening the flood gate pressed heavily into her. Her arms found a way around him, fingertips burrowing deeply against his broad shoulders. He ignored the discomfort, simply letting her hold on as tightly as she needed to.

"Gabriel.. the reason he's alive, what he is– I.. I never meant for _any_ of this to happen. I just wanted him to _**live**_ , but he – the procedure.." She was shushed by Jack, and she was unwilling to continue afterwards. Not now, at least. The current moment was devoted to entirely cleansing her emotional state, washing it with each tear that collected at the corner of her eyes and trickled down onto him.

"Don't shoot me on this one, Angela, but you didn't _make_ Reyes become what he had," He grimaced, resting his chin atop her head and sighing quietly, the sound deep within him. Being so close, she could feel his voice reverberate through him and her, too. Jack had his suspicions about the man who was once his best friend. Things had been a downhill slope the moment he got the position of Strike Commander over him.

An inkling of his own guilt crept up on him. He was just as in the wrong, having done nothing to ease his friend's envy, never once gave him the credit he deserved or desired. Regardless of his own feelings, he set them aside to focus on Angela.

"And no, I'm not angry at you," he correctly guessed, having a suspicion that this was why she hadn't wanted to let him share the burden of her grief. "You were only doing what you thought -"

"During the revival process, he asked me to stop. To let him.." she cut in, only to trail off. Lips shuddering, Angela forced herself to continue the train of thought. "… to let him rest. But I didn't. I kept him alive. I completed the procedure, and instead of facing the horror of what I had done, going against his wishes, I chose to walk away from it with _information_ _._ "

He'd never heard her sound so disgusted with herself. Such bitterly callous tones were better reserved for men past their prime, like him, not her.

Jack carefully peeled Angela away from him to look at her face. It was red and tear-stained, her hand drawing back to wipe at her eyes with her palm, seemingly embarrassed to have hit such a low point and subjected the once commander to that display. The old veteran knew no amount of words of comfort or advice from him was as effective as Angela coming to terms with herself and facing the truth – it was harsh and painful, but it was better than ignoring it, which was what she had been doing for the past decade.

So instead of grilling her, or giving lectures, he merely leant over, took one of the pieces of cloth from the table and pulled back to cup her face and clean her tears more adequately than her palm. She refused to meet his gaze, but did not flinch under his touch as she did before.

Once more, the doctor found herself apologising. "I.. this was _wholly_ unprofessional of me."

"I told Hana even big girls cry sometimes. Hell, boys too. You seen Tracer and McCree? Two of them get pretty damn ugly when they start blubbering." he gruffly muttered, shrugging once and giving her a wan smile, which she weakly returned. "You're no different, doctor or otherwise. Never knew why people think showing emotion is some kind of federal offence."

"Yet you wear a mask, Jack." she pointed out quietly, drained. Her slimmer hand clasped over his one that fit neatly over her cheek, squeezing lightly and removing it to encase in both of her hands. Morrison tossed the damp cloth onto the table, dipping his head briefly.

"For a different reason. It took me to die until I realised that sometimes, the path of doing the right thing isn't always squeaky clean, or something you'll like doing." he relayed, basing it upon his experiences. Though he would love to take the world's war with the ideals he had as a younger man, the fact of the matter it was just unrealistic.

Angela nodded numbly, raising his captured hand to her lips and holding it there in gratitude; gaze hidden among the bangs of platinum blonde. The main thing was that she was a lot calmer than she was moments ago, but either if it was good for her or not, she wasn't sure. A hoarse chuckle escaped her.

"There are days I feel I've lost sight over what is right," she said hollowly, and it struck Morrison at how eerily similar to Ana she sounded – the older woman had confided much the same to him, too. It pained the man to hear someone as young, talented and well-meaning as Angela say something like that, and brushed her chin affectionately with his knuckle.

"Hah. Half the time I can't see at all, so we can figure out the right direction together." The wrinkles on Jack's face creased as a small grin worked it's way across after the doctor shook her head. This was not the moment to be cracking jokes, but in a way, it helped her relax a little, as if Morrison did not think less of her after her breakdown. She withdrew her hands, and slid off the bed.

"I would recommend some surgery on your eyes, but I know you will deny it." she drifted off topic, wanting nothing more than to put what had been said behind her. Mercy gingerly picked up his faceplate and visor as Jack redressed himself. She turned to face him when he had finished, handing the pieces back to him to slip seamlessly over his face, rendering his body language undetectable, save for his brows.

"I'll surpass your expectations and get an eye test if I have consistently less than my average accuracy." he stated, planting his feet onto the floor and standing up, bed rising with the motion now that it was empty, though still huffed in mild ache. He was promptly shoved back down by the doctor reasserting her role as the tending physician.

"You are to stay in this room for at least another hour or two while the nano-tech works. I will check up on you after I finish with a few more patients."

Grumpily, his head hit the pillow once more. "Damn. Thought I could slip by you this time."

Angela cracked another smile, but said nothing more as she unlocked the door and left, facing the world with, for the first time in a while, a clear, refreshed mind, devoid of doubts or stress.


	43. Refill

**Title:** Refill

 **Characters** : McCree, Ana.

 ** _Note:_ ** Sorry I haven't been updating. Legion for WoW has just came out and, since I'm a raider I've been focusing 100% on getting ready for the next few weeks to come. This chapter itself is a **filler chapter** , because it's very small and just, gives me time to explain why there hasn't been updates, etc. I probably won't be updating for a while, but I think there's plenty of chapters to read within that time, ahah~

* * *

"Have you told her yet?"

McCree did not even entertain the idea of regaling her with a look, simply reclining back against the sink of the kitchen and focused on the task at hand at peeling potatoes. His armoured chestpiece was off, hair tied back and sleeves typically buttoned to his upper arms, looking very much at home as he worked. All that was missing was the customary cigar, but unsurprisingly, he had been banned from smoking near the food.

The owner of the voice, Ana Amari, was sat up on the counter, rendering it useless for preparation as she pointed her peeler accusingly at the westener, to which he was blind to. She dumped her naked potato into the pot of water with the others, leaning over to nick one of the spuds from Jesse's pile.

It certainly was strange, that two infamous legends in their own right would be spending their aftermath in the kitchen doing manual work that was often given to the cooks and the chefs, not the agents, unless specifically given that duty.

But, as the gunslinger noted, it was peaceful, quiet, away from the racket of the power tools creating incredible noise and mess to remove the debris of the aircraft hangar and it gave him time to think, a commodity he was beginning to get more and more appreciative of as he got older. Jesse resisted the urge to smirk at his own thoughts – he wasn't as old as the woman beside him, but neither was he a young man as he'd like to think.

"No," he ruefully said, throwing away the skin of the potato and finally inclining his head towards the ever-grinning sniper; mouth curled like a content cat and single eye sparkling with intent and mischief. Age had not dimmed that, it seemed. "Well, _yes,_ actually. But she thought I was joking."

He remembered vividly letting it slip how he had a crush on her, which had blossomed into much more meaningful love. At the time, he had been completely composed, chatting with the woman in the attempt to rally her spirits, yet inwardly his heart had been pounding against it's ribbed cage and a cool sweat trickled down the back of his neck when he heard that infectious laughter of hers.

Typically she put little stock in his words concerning matters of the heart. He played a flirt and he was known for it – and the girl had been considerably more _guarded_ after Overwatch's original fall. There was a lot more hidden behind her smiles, behind mirthful eyes; a lot more aware of herself than maybe even _she_ wanted to be.

"You probably flippantly mentioned it, yes?" she tsked, shaking her head, knowing all too well of McCree's tendencies. "For a man who is ever the charmer, you really need to learn a little more tact, my boy."

"Always my critic, _abuela._ " he sighed, managing to steel his face to avoid grimacing. There had been a reoccurring thought pop up in his mind whenever it wandered to the time-controlling agent, a sour bitter one that he wanted to chase away into the deeper recesses of his mind. But, like always, it crept back, time and time again.

"I've.. shoot, I've been thinkin' that maybe it's.. too late for us."

He stumbled a little when Ana grabbed his shoulder rather roughly and swivelled him to face her, single eye burning with heated disagreement that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. She had long deposited the peeler and potato into their rightful spots, and he was quite frankly worried over just what she might say.

" _Abn,_ I have half the mind to drag you by the ear into next week. _Too late?_ What utter nonsense!" she chewed out, and despite himself, Jesse found that he stood at attention with her words, like she was channelling the inner Captain within her that he always looked up to and respected, among other things.

"You're young yet, child, and so is she. If anything, now is more than the perfect opportunity to, at the very _least,_ make your feelings known." Ana huffed lightly, then softened, gaze directed just slightly away from the bewildered man. "The last thing you want to do is have that opportunity walk away from you. Trust me."

McCree was no psychological expert – he'll leave that for their resident angel – but he had been around the wrong type of people enough to read the subtleties in a person's face with a deal gone sour, or the tense body language of shoot-out just waiting to happen. The older woman, though masterful at masking her true self behind a kindly persona still clued him in with the way she seemed to deflate when mentioning that, shoulders sagging so slightly and wrinkled mouth creasing in displeasure.

"Experience talkin'?" he guessed, earning him a wince for his accuracy, before a more appropriate sorrowful grin claimed her face.

"Sadly I may have never had the opportunity to begin with," she muttered as Jesse joined her in abandoning the duty of peeling to rest beside her, one calloused hand sneaking out to envelop her smaller one and offer a squeeze of reassurance before retreating away to the safety of his folded arms. "He was married, after all."

"To his job." he added, beginning to fill in the blanks from her wistful rambling. "But I dare say he's fallen out of favour with his mistress. Vigilantism does that even to the best of men, and I doubt the great Ana Amari would let something as trivial as age stop her."

She barked a laugh, but it was devoid of any mirth. "The ' _ **great**_ ' Ana Amari is a shell of the woman she used to be. My prime has long since passed as did any opportunity that never came by." A huff. "When did the tables get turned to me? We are discussing your future, young man."

"I'm just sayin' you should take your own advice once in a while, ma'am." he drawled, ducking immediately at the inevitable clip around the ear. The sniper muttered under her breath; with a few choice Arabic words he caught, though made no comment to it and returned beside her. "Although.. I never took you for the _cougar._ We all betted for the ol' German."

This time he was not quick enough avoiding her pinching fingers yanking his ear at his disrespect. He took it all in stride, grinning widely as she cursed him blind in unhindered Arabic, to which he laughed cheerfully at. It lightened the mood and, more importantly, went off topic about him and Tracer. He knew Ana had the best of intentions, but something of that kind was.. better solved by himself and the woman in question.

"Feh!" she spat, tugging on his ear for good measure before letting go and scowling benignly, unable to truly be mad at him for too long. "Not a trace of shame – you are worse than Torbjörn."

"Hah! Careful what you say, ma'am. I could be shouting at the top of my lungs in mock surprise about our Captain and Strike Commander. Now that is something Torbjörn _would_ do, and smirk all the while." Jesse pointed out, donning the described smirk that only broadened at Ana's increasingly grumpier frown.

"Once a rogue, always a rogue." she gloomily stated to his amused laughter. "This conversation is far from over, young man. You haven't escaped me yet concerning Tracer."

"I know. But I'll take my victory, _abuela_." He twisted around to wrap his arms strongly around the older woman, embracing her heartily to which she couldn't help but return and plant a motherly kiss against the bed of messy wild locks of hair. McCree pulled away shortly, washing his hands in the sink and moving the soaking potatoes elsewhere before dipping his head in respect and leaving her to her thoughts.


	44. Receptively

**Title:** Receptively **  
**

 **Characters:** Hanzo, Mei, (Genji) **  
**

 _ **Note:**_ _Hanzo and Mei request! I had a different idea in mind for them (perhaps I'll revisit it) but I also wanted a short peice to address the brothers return, as well. Kudos to:_

 _Charra Loon_

 _I promise, I won't forget this fic. The updates will be just a little slow, that's all._

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 _\- Hah, I appreciate the kind words but I really doubt I'm a celebrity/this fic is "famous", as far as I know the only mentioning is on TvTropes, which still blows my mind to this day._

 _-Thanks for the luck! Ah, it's not that stressfull really, I'm just a hardcore raider so it's kinda mandatory to be on top of things, that's all. It should die down in the days to come as a lot of things appear to be locked out for a few hours (like.. missions, for example.) As for the Reaper76, I personally don't ship it but I do have an idea in mind for that idea.. it would have to be a flashback/before they died, though. Would fill the 'Young' request, again, as one said they wanted to see more young-based chapters :P_

 _-I'm 99.9% sure McCree would be Eliminated if Tracer did that and of course McCree would not let her get away with it_

 _-Cue McCree having "borrowed" the very spiffy looking flight lieutenant uniform and tips the peaked cap with a wink. (ELIMINATED Tracer)_

 _-A very angry flight liuetenant whom had the misfortune of sharing McCree's measurements submits a complaint to Winston, said gorilla is not amused._

 _\- Hah, if I was more well versed in Cards of Humanity, I might consider that as a request. Mercy would hands down have the best (or should I say worst) cards._

 _\- fixed a bunch of errors, like, dang. - Guixi_

* * *

Sorting the outstanding family business was a chaotic affair, and neither did the brothers expect that upon returning, it would have sneaked ahead and reaped havoc upon the base.

The personnel looked especially overworked; the agents sleepless or to themselves. The Japanese marksman had almost became unsettled when the gaunt looking face of Tracer whizzed by him, or the tense, tight-lipped grimace of Lucio skating by.

Although Hanzo and Genji were no step closer to mending the tremendous rift between them, mainly due to the elder's odd diversity of pride and hesitance regarding what Genji had become – by his own hands, he shamefully forces to remind himself – they still had taken a few step closer to a united, harmonious goal.

Tying up the loose straggling ends of the Shimada Clan officially had been the first order of business they worked together on, however their time in Hanamura was unexpectedly cut short when one night Genji had expressed concerns that he could not contact Overwatch at all, either through Athena's main server, Mercy's emergency server or even by Bastion (another pet project's of Hana, that last one.)

Hanzo decided not to comment on his younger brother slowly making it a habit to check in with Mercy at least once every night when he was out on a mission or just away from the base in general. He certainly had quite a few choice words to say, but he was not so out of touch with his social grace to not understand the difference between a blooming relationship of any kind, platonic or otherwise, and lust. Genji had all but lost interest in physical desire when – well, when he died.

Yet all of that was secondary in his mind when he drunk in the state of disarray the base was in. An entire wing and a handful of facilities seemed to have been destroyed by some sort of attack, all kinds of technology ran slowly or were simply offline as Winston worked tirelessly to update Athena to avoid the cyber-warfare of that magnitude again, and missions had been postponed leading to many antsy, cooped up agents that wanted nothing more than to get out of the base for a while.

"We seemed to have.. missed an event," intoned the dual synthetic-living voice of his brother, the slight inflection indicating his guilt. The archer dipped his head imperceptibly, but he knew that Genji took it as his grimace at the situation; burdening the guilt with a brave, unaffected face.

"I will – seek my master out. I must know if he is safe, then perhaps I will discover what has happened along the way." Genji shot Hanzo a look, gauging his reaction. He need not approval from him any more to simply go off, but he felt it.. necessary to at least inform what he was going to do.

The older male remained picturesquely still, eyes moving only slightly as he observed the rubble, deducing what had happened based purely in the scene, from the scorched trail of burn marks laden the floor where Hana's MEKA had been dragging it's feet given the size, and the splatter of blood that painted the ground yet to be cleaned. He grunted, blinking a few times and finally giving the cyborg his full attention.

"Focus on Zenyatta. I shall report in for the both of us." he was already waving his hand in dismissal before Genji could even protest; knowing that, despite everything that had happened to him, there were still some things that had been left completely unchanged. Likely, he was clenching his jaw under all that metal, followed by a roll of the eyes and – the huff of noise he made confirmed it.

".. Thank you, brother."

He frowned, though there was no malice nor anger within the gesture. Perhaps he was bewildered just how to react; and did whatever came natural to him. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat "There is no need to thank me for that. Go on – move swiftly."

" _Hai._ " The living weapon stalled a moment, offering a respectful nod and tilting his torso just enough to be caught as a bow, before he left his brother, his steps light yet quick as it would not take long for him to locate Zenyatta with his connection to the Shambali monk.

* * *

At first, Hanzo tried to accomplish his intended goal of reporting in; however fate was against him. Winston's lab was locked down, and by extension that meant the gorilla was unable to be accessed, either. There was always Soldier – he usually passed the message along and the archer found the old dog companionable to converse with, which spoke volumes given his status as a lone wolf – but asking around yielded that he was in the medical bay, under strict orders to rest and recover.

He even toyed with the idea of telling one like Ana or even Reinhardt, but he simply was not comfortable with them enough to delve into the results of his and his brother's visit to their home. They were nice enough, sure, but he knew the two held little opinion for crime lords to begin with, former or no.

He had no choice but to hold off on it for now, and decided to try and assist the personnel. It was the least he could do, given his absence during the madness.

As he was heading towards the ruins of the aircraft hangar, there was a resounding crash in the room as he passed, causing him to halt in caution and reflexively draw his bow, single arrow notched onto it's string. His stormy grey eyes narrowed sharply as he strained his ears to hear anything more – shuffling, low moans of complaint and pain, followed by another crash, presumably something falling.

The door was ajar, allowing him to nudge his foot into the doorway and slowly peel it back, the string of his bow following a similar motion as it was tense and at the ready. He subsequently relaxed when the occupant of the room was no assailant or wayward attacker, but instead a mildly dazed Chinese scientist.

Her mittens were over her face as she groaned on the floor, technical equipment strewn around and beside her as she had, rather embarrassingly, slipped off the counter she was kneeling upon to get to the higher controls for one of the many regulating units to help with the base's air conditioning, humidity and other electronic services. Mei made a mental note to ask the engineers to kindly, if it was possible and at their convenience, of course, to move it to a lower place.

"I hate being so small.." she bemoaned, believing to be alone as she tentatively rubbed at her eye where one of the equipment fell back with her and clashed against her glasses, cracking the lenses and smacking straight into her eye. "Ow.. everything hurts.."

"If you believe something is broken, I can contact Doctor Ziegler immediately."

She yelped in fright, causing Hanzo to flinch before perking a salt-and-peppered flecked brow at her flailing on the floor. Her gloved hand flew to her chest where her heart inevitably would be pounding against her ribcage, breathing ragged as she screwed her eyes shut and was babbling apologises before she could even form a proper acknowledgement.

"I.." he started, a speckle of amusement laced in his low tone. "I believe I am the one to apologise if I startled you, Miss Zhou. I assure you that was not my intention."

Mei finally faced her fears and peeked one eye open to look at the rough face of the disgraced crime lord, a man that always seemed to look permanently scowling and judgemental. She shrunk a bit, a shaky, nervous smile rising to her lips as she really had no other way to express herself that did not involve evacuating the room. It wasn't that she hated Hanzo - far from it – he _intimidated_ her, perhaps irrationally so, as he had been nothing but polite when their shared interest of nature was brought into question.

Hanzo shouldered his Storm Bow, slotting the arrow to rest with it's brethren in the quiver to his lower back and extended a hand to the fallen scientist. She stared at it as if it was an alien gesture before she managed to gather some wits about her. The elder Shimada had little tolerance for people in general, but he knew and inwardly admired the intelligence the woman possessed, and she did nothing to offend him, either.

"Oh! U-Um, no – I mean, nothing is broken. Thank you, _Xiānshēng_." Mei desperately tried not to let the cherry-red embarrassed hue mar her cheeks, oversized mitten grasping Hanzo's offered hand tenuously and squeaking when she underestimated the strength of his grip as he hauled her to her feet. She stumbled a little before gathering her bearings.

She went to adjust her glasses by habit until she stopped, mouth popping open in realisation as she removed it and stared woefully at the cracked right lens. She did not even want to think of the bruise on her face, coupled with the strenuous task of fixing her glasses. Winston usually maintained them for her, but with he was so busy, and she hated being a bother.

Unfortunately (in her mind), Hanzo was thinking about it for her. His brows furrowed, giving the serious man and even more cross look as he inspected the marks and tutted quietly. "If I recall, the good doctor is busy and is only available for emergencies. Allow me to fetch some ice to soothe the swelling and.. perhaps you may have a repair kit for your glasses?"

Immediately, she was quick to jump against; "Oh, no, no – please, it was my own silly fault. I can't burden you with something like that at all – if you're going to, then let me – "

Hanzo shook his head, cowing her into silence with just a single gesture. In another life, his arrogance would have relished in having such a power over someone, but now, seeing her wandering gaze and discomfort, it only brought him shame and a desire to do better. He did not want her to be intimidated by him – he wanted, truthfully, to break the shell around her and draw out the cool intellect within.

"It is trivial." he countered in turn, tone strong in finality. "If you truly believe you need to repay me, then you can explain what has happened here on the way, and if anyone has gotten hurt during our absence."

Mei drew a quiet little sigh, but nodded her head. "Yes, u-um, I'll try to explain the best I can. I had been trapped in the one of our research labs when it happened."

" _Trapped?_ "

Despite herself, she winced, as if his question had been tipped with a scathing sneer, even if Hanzo's face remained neutral – a touch curious and concerned, but not critical. They began walking out of the control room after the Chinese climatologist tidied up the mess she made as quickly as she could, falling into a hasty step beside the archer's confident gait.

"Winston told us that the base was forced into lock down when the hacker took control of Athena." she began, looking everywhere but at Hanzo and trying not to dissolve into a mess of stuttering gibberish, keeping her voice slow and clear, though making her accent far more painfully obvious. He didn't seem to care, though she had little idea what the infamous archer thought. "All of this to release one single prisoner. Most of us got trapped into rooms or hallways, but Command – I mean, um, Soldier: 76, broke free to confront the escapee."

They turned a corner, with Hanzo pacing forward first and hold open the door for her. It was a simple gesture; one that was second nature due to his upbringing. It still caused Mei to flush, though her angry looking bruises did well to mask her heated cheeks, and mumbled her thanks, ducking into the lounge as the marksman went on ahead to the kitchen to retrieve the ice.

Sitting up on the sofa, she patted her mittens against her knees, only stopping once to push the fallen glasses up the bridge of her nose when it struck her that she had her endothermic blaster, and could have simply created the ice. She had been so caught up with her anxiety over Hanzo's presence that it escaped her mind. Mei grumbled under her breath, hoping that he made no mention of it. A sense of dread crept up her back – of course he would, he was a very obstute man. He had probably already noticed and was preparing to scold her for making him do all this work.

Mei waited for her fears to come to life when he exited the kitchen, unaware with the ice pack in tow, offering it to her. She looked at it, then to him, but he said nothing other than a prompting rise of his brow. Quickly gathering the ice pack, she bowed her head deeply.

" _Xièxiè_." she breathed, shyly touching the swelled bump under her right eye and flinching drastically as the ice-hot feeling torched her skin. Mustering up the courage and the stomach, she pressed the ice pack against it more firmly, watching Hanzo sit rigidly straight in the chair opposite to her. She didn't expect him to sit next to her, or on the other side of the sofa, but across from her made it so her attention was forced to him.

That was probably his intention, she reminded herself. Hanzo may prefer being alone but he was not purposefully rude when forced into conversation, unless (rather pettily) it was with someone he would not wish to deal with, like the rowdy duo of McCree and Tracer or the Junkers.

" _Dōitashimashite."_ It was brief, but Mei regretted only catching the latter half of his spoken Japanese. He sounded far less callous and scratchy – soothing, almost. "You were saying..?"

"R-Right. Soldier confronted the prisoner, and they fought. That's why he's in the medbay now. As for the hangar, um.. Hana did not take kindly to seeing her parental figure being hurt and took a bit of a drastic measure to end the fight."

"Hana? Hm.." That would explain the tracked soot marks of the MEKA. He was beginning to believe it was the erratic demolition expert's fault, not the sweet albeit disrespectful young lady. "Attachment of any kind is always dangerous in our line of work. There will be many more days and missions to come with wounded agents."

Mei drew in her bottom lip. She disagreed, personally, but it was nigh impossible to speak out of turn against such a figure like Hanzo. His eyes only briefly flickered over her before he made a slight noise in the back of his throat; drawing her attention.

"I hope I do not have to tell you that you have freedom to speak your mind, Miss Zhou." he informed. "I would not speak to you if I did not desire discussion."

The portly woman opened and closed her mouth like a flapping goldfish before settling on hiding her face well enough against the frozen ice, free mitten tugging a little bit on the oversized fluffy collar of her parka. He had put it so bluntly it caught her off guard, but she supposed he was not a man to dance around a subject. She squirmed a little under his intense gaze but otherwise laughed rather lightly.

"I.. I'm sorry." she said, quickly adding before Hanzo could dismiss her apology. "I mean it! I, um, it can be easy for me to become overwhelmed. I never expected _you_ would _**want**_ to converse with me."

Though it was obvious to Hanzo that, to him, clearly he would if he spoke to her in the first place. He rolled his shoulders back, stating matter-of-factly; "You are an intelligent woman, even if a little.."

He searched for the right word before nodding to himself. "Shy, and we share a similar passion regarding the beauty of the world. I may be.. – hm, Doctor Ziegler described me as _abrasive_. Perhaps that is the issue."

Though _passion_ was one of the last words she would attribute to Hanzo, he did become a little more lively and his guard dropped just that inch lower when the environment was brought up. His appreciation had blossomed into something much more the longer he spent meditating; a technique he picked up to calm his raging soul and as far as she was concerned it was the one of the better choices he had made in what little was public about his life.

"T-Thank you." she murmured, head bowed deep in humility and respect for his compliments, even if they had been delivered as facts from him. "I don't think you harsh, maybe a little aloof – but it's completely understandable, given what you have gone through."

He cracked a grin that matched her opinion of him. She knew little of his strife, and the torment he had caused upon his brother, but he did not correct her for now, having no desire to open himself up for anyone, even if she was one of the better, less critical ones.

For now, they fell into a companionable silence which surprised Mei, finding herself less and less anxious of him the more she begun to disprove her irrational fear harboured for the man. Gently, she peeled the ice pack away as the area had long since gone numb, moving it to rest on her lap as she tugged the glasses off and regarded them grimly once again, nestling them back on the bridge of her nose, before finally rising to the task of challenging his answer.

"All of what we do is _dangerous_ to some extent, even a maintenance job like mine could.. horribly backfire." she shuddered at the dark thought, her apprehension twisting her pudgy face, though it was hard for her to look anything other than adorable. "We all have our reasons to form the bonds we do. As much as Hana protests to being an adult - and I agree she is no _child_ either - she still is quite young to be dealing with the reality of the missions. When I was her age, I only _read_ about wars in text books."

Another sigh. "T-To get to the point, I think it's a coping mechanism for her, for better or worse. You have braved the world alone - you understand it could not have been easy."

Hanzo figured that would be along the lines of what she'd say, and hummed slightly, drumming his finger against his knee as his hands sat folded on his lap. "I did not find myself caring for another's company until I found myself, even briefly, within it. I felt as tense as the string of my bow pulled taut, and my judgement plauged with mistrust and uncertainity. Even now I am .. reserved to the idea."

A brief, pregnant pause before he continued, quieter. "Yet, I agree, it had not been _easy."_

That had been the purpose, after all. For honour and the cleansing of his soul he felt as if he must suffer for his actions. He was never a social man to begin with, but neither had he been so aloof to want to actively avoid it. Years without even a single person to talk more than a few necessary words to had taken it's toll on him eventually. He finished with; "There exists alternate methods. I may speak with Hana about them."

After recovering from the substantial response, Mei hurriedly answered. "I - I think she would like that, actually."

Another moment of peace fell between them before the Chinese scientist gingerly picked at the ice pack, the cold barely penetrating through the reinforced winter clothing she donned, and forced herself to gaze directly at Hanzo. "Um, thank you, again. For all of this, _Xiānshēng._ I'm still embarrassed to have gotten hurt in the first place.."

"There is little reason to thank me." Hanzo stated, rising from the chair gracefully, once more extending his hand for her. A puzzled look captured his face for barely a moment when she placed the ice pack in it. Recovering flawlessly, he thought it better not to mention that he had intended to help her up, and moved to store it away.

When he returned, she had already stood up, hands fussing about her parka and making a mess of her hair given the gloved mittens and flashed him a smile that, for once, was not laced with uncertain, tense anxiety. He considered that progress, and dipped his head once in acknowledgement.

"Time for me to get back to work! That unit isn't going to fix itself." she tried to joke, though believed it fell flat on it's face as Hanzo was not particularly vocal in expressing his amusement, despite the twitch of his lips suggesting otherwise. Mei cleared her throat and began to shuffle off.

"If you would like some assistance..?" he trailed off, adding a jesting; "I believe I recall you mentioning something to do with height being an issue."

The Chinese woman chuckled, one mitten covering the lower half of her face as she was thankful her back was turned to him so she could avoid his intense gaze. Still, she turned her head, voice pitching a touch higher as she asked; "Y-Yes.. I could reach the controls if I stood up on the chair, however this time some support holding it will.. prevent this happening again."

She gestured to her face, and he made a noise of understanding.

"While our commanders seem otherwise indisposed or occupied I will help in any way I can."


	45. Rearmed

**Title:** Rearmed

 **Characters:** Reaper, Widowmaker.

 _ **Note:** Reaper and Widowmaker chapter! I know this was a super early request compared to some others I have stored, but I think you'll forgive considering it has one of the most underused characters in this fic. I really want to do Widowmaker justice, I really do. I just think I don't really write her well enough to justify using her as often as the others. Oh well, I hope you enjoy either way, and should finally tie up the last loose end with the aftermath of the Sombra arc._

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 _ **-** Mei is Bae_

 _\- D &D McCree because yes, accepted._

 _\- I agree that Hanzo probably has very stiff courting grace, no matter the partner. I don't think he's completely hopeless, and if I ever get into more detail I can expand on that, but eh. I am starting to write him more though, so that's a good thing. I actually rather like his character. I never really had any ships with him until I started writing the requests, so that's something._

 _\- I can't believe this has actually hit over 100k words and I'm still writing for this. How deep will this rabbit hole go? Will in a months time It'll be like, 500k words and 100+ chapters? I have no idea. Gosh. - Guixi_

* * *

If Talon left her any emotion to spare, she might have shuddered at his entrance, become revolted at his grotesque appearance and caught unaware – blood pounding in the drums of her ears as she tried to recover from such a great scare.

Widowmaker, on the other hand, merely flicked her gaze upward at Gabriel's impromptu arrival, his gait liked a wounded drunk as he stumbled on his still-forming legs, collapsing to the floor and clawing at the ground with bloodied stubs of his fingernails. His words were incomprehensible to her, both guttural from the lack of functional vocal chords and in a language she hadn't bothered to learn.

She watched, by no means in curiosity, rather a morbid void of cool disinterest as she slowly crossed one leg over her knee, slim fingers folding the corner of her book's page in a dog ear and placing it neatly onto the table beside her in Talon's lounge. Reaper had finally reached the sofa, leaving a trail of blackened, decayed blood on the floor and using the arm of the couch to assist him in standing.

The assassin soaked in his appearance with a quirk of full lips, noting the way the mist enshrouded him like a blanket of safety and chastity as he had little energy to start regenerating the fabric of his clothing. He returned her gaze, black lifeless eyes dilated and sparing no hatred as she made no move to help him, and even dared to purposefully drag her wandering eyes downwards – humming in disappointment as he was cloaked from the waist down.

As it should be. He did not want her simulated pity nor her snide comments, but he was testy, awaiting the inevitable backhanded mock that she was oft to deliver.

" _Sombra?_ " he asked, cells functional enough to spare a single word, voice sounding raspy and otherworldly as it hissed from his ripped chords and shredded throat. Reaper leant most of his weight onto the sofa, clutching at it desperately to remain standing despite the incomprehensible agony that coursed through his ever-dying-living state. He had reformed quite quicker than he anticipated and he was beginning to regret doing so, unsure how long he could hold a solid being.

Gabriel conceded to sink into the sofa, the shadows that wrapped around him gathering around like a protective cloak that he tugged together. If Widowmaker did not know any better, she would have thought he was curling up into a ball, but he steadfastly remained rigid.

"As if she was never here." the sniper drawled. "We detected a.. presence, but it did not linger long enough for us to trace."

Though he made no gesture that he acknowledged her, she believed he was attentively listening nevertheless. An unfavourable silence settled over the two as the only think that broke the calm was the ragged breathing of the recovering man. Amélie considered provoking him, kicking the man down at the lowest state to be in, but found the motivation for the gain lacking. She felt only an imitation of the real thing when being cruel – nothing beat the surge of life after the kill.

Thus, as if he never returned to begin with, Widowmaker plucked the book from the table, bringing up her legs to nestle under her as she leant her cheek on curled fist, resuming where she left off. The woman only managed to get to the end of the page when Reaper's presence continued to pervade.

"Are you not locking yourself in your room this time?" she quipped, attention firmly remaining with the written word. "You know how to make a lady feel special, _mon cher._ Breathe a little quieter, if you would, I am trying to read _._ "

Even with her conditioning, the gurgling sound was enough to get her to wrinkle her nose in mild disgust as she risked a look upwards just to see the pleasant image of him jutted forward and spitting out an unhealthy amount of tainted blood onto the carpet, one hand clamped firmly around his mouth in order to stop himself and only succeeded in having the dark liquid seep through the cracks.

Resigning that her time would not be spent trying to recall what relaxation was by doing things she vaguely – hazily – recalled enjoying, she threw the book onto the table and rose from the chair, grumbling under her breath in French as she left the room briefly.

Now that he was alone, there was little holding him back from turning to his side and drawing what little he managed to form of his limbs closer to him. Gabriel hated regenerating at this magnitude; the pain truly was indescribable. He thought he would desensitise in time, but even a lack of a nervous system or anything of the sort did not stop the ungodly torment. Another wave of sickly nausea rolled over him and he felt the bile rise up to the back of his throat, but firmly kept it down through sheer will alone.

There was little point to wallow in self pity. He was ashamed of these momentary vulnerabilities but they only served to fuel the machine of fury that churned within. For every stifled sob and moment of white-hot pain he would redeem himself through hellfire and brimstone of his shotguns upon the cursed souls of his victims.

He did not flinch when Widowmaker returned, dumping many articles of clothing in front of him unceremoniously, at least having the decency to avoid the growing pool of unnaturally dark crimson. He blinked a few times, vision not fully correct but enough to tell the recognizable retired design of Blackwatch's armour and the flowing fabric of his trench coat.

Gabriel opened his mouth, about to protest her assistance, but quickly snapped it such as the lingering bad blood made a rush forth. He swallowed it back down, and Amélie took the opportunity to speak.

"It's only a matter of time before you _cannot_ come back from the grave." her tone was as flat as the look on her face, factual and uncaring. His capabilities were an enigma – even to himself, at times – but no-one believed he would be able to live forever. That nightmare was reserved for the pilot, doomed to outlive her friends. His uncertainty to the unknown of when his true death would occur is what plagued his thoughts on a near daily basis, however he didn't _want_ to come back. He wanted the suffering to end.

But, like an ever running autonomous machine, his scarred withered hand drew away from the safety of the inky smoke and hooked around the cotton of the black clothing, treating Widowmaker with a first hand look of the exposed sinews of his muscles as parts of his flesh still had yet to grow. Her lip curled back, flashing perfect pearl-whites and walked away from the downtrodden man, letting him dress in relative peace and all but threw herself onto her chair, legs now cascading over the armrest in casual recline.

"I will only rest.." Reaper slowly spoke, voice struggling deep within the pit of his throat. "When _he_ is dead."

"Ah yes, _Morrison._ " Amélia purred, tongue rolling like the way her voice caressed the name in velvety venom, thick lashes fluttering as she narrowed her eyes in a pinpoint glare. She held no love for the man then and certainly did not _now,_ but she was far less obsessed with killing him than her wayward partner. The exhilarating rush of denying Reaper his prey would be excitingly new to experience, as she had plenty of chances when stalking the agents of Overwatch and caught him lazily watching the sunrise from the roof of Gibraltar, but she held no death wish of her own. "His doing, I take it?"

The off-beat silence made her perk a perfectly manicured brow up. She could hardly get surprised – a useful trait for an assassin to have – but Reyes not jumping at the chance to slander his old friend's name was.. _unusual_ for the man who spent the better half of the time between missions doing so. If, he was not out **hunting** , that was.

"No." his response was short, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was not just because of the state he was in. Widowmaker toyed with the idea of prying into what happened, and a pretty little fake grin curled in her painted lips, cheek resting so delicately in the palm of her hand as she observed him like a predator in wait. He had since dressed by now, though opted to leave the constricting armour off and push himself up back reluctantly into a sitting position.

"Hmm.." The tip of her index finger tapped tauntingly against her cheekbone, and even despite Gabriel's ruined face she could see the restlessness set on ashen black features. He fixed that shortly with sifting through the pile of his armour and slotting the familiar mask into place, almost sighing in _relief_ as he did so.

"Amari senior?" Then, she added. "You agreed it was my kill, _mon cher._ That is an unfinished job."

"Noted." It was an unspoken agreement between the two that each other's baggage was their own to deal with. Although that annoyingly left Widowmaker with little targets as Reyes had many enemies he claimed for his own, he had started loosening up when it became apparent that it was becoming harder to finish said job. By no fault of their skills, of course, but they were sorely lacking in competent manpower that rivalled Overwatch's growing force, and the agents rarely did missions solo, making their main element of subterfuge all that more difficult.

"But no." his rasping baritone seemed to have gained some quality back to it as he recovered slowly, but he would be by no means mission ready for days – weeks, even.

She waited for him to elaborate, but nothing further came. Her grin dropped into a frown as her hand fell too, resting idle over her stomach and turned her head away from the brooding man. "You are not going to tell me, are you?"

"Correct."

Amélie petulantly sniffed in indignation, though it was all an act. Her gaze shifted to her nails, inspecting them for imperfections and picking at imaginary dirt as she sighed dramatically, rolling her shoulders back and lazily stating; "What a shame. I guess I'll have to catch the debrief, then, because the Chairman will inevitably want you to report in."

He bristled. Reyes had not been discreet about his opinion on their organization's leader, thinking the man a fool if he believed he had any authority over him, but it was only for his usefulness and practicality did Reaper tolerate the wormy commander. Convenience was a huge factor too; being able to secure a flight to anywhere at a moment's notice was a boon. For all his barking about Talon's incompetence they truly were a threat not to be trifled with.

"Not now."

"He won't take kindly to being made to wait."

"And I don't take kindly to being ordered around like some _lapdog_ ," Ahah, some bite had returned to the man she had seen trembling on the sofa, dead body racked with flowing pain. Her smirk returned, though Reyes did not share the sentiment. His arms crossed, masked head inclined elsewhere as he added; "I will go when I am ready to go."

"I care little either way." she pointed out, finally salvaging her book to read now that he was not wheezing like he was under the throes of death. Though Amélie knew she ought to feel satisfied with the moment of peacefulness, the only thing she could was deadpan nothingness and muted unrecalled memories of the truth. The sniper spent little time on that thought as it was drowned out by the words of the book.

She wet the tip of her middle digit, thumb nuzzling against the corner of the page as she reached the end, turning it gently and smoothing the page with the rest of them, until she was disturbed yet again by the other occupant in the room.

"What are you reading?" Amélie stifled a scoff at his question. He was always nosey, despite denying such a thing, to her affairs. Yet, she tolerated it, as privacy was a little known concept to the woman who had her life stripped from her. It seemed he had returned to rest on the sofa, on his back and hands neatly entwined over his chest as he stared, presumably, up at the ceiling. It wouldn't surprise her if he fell asleep there – he took to couches better than beds.

" _Bonjour Tristesse_." she answered after quickly flipping the cover in front and tossing it back.

"Never heard of it."

"I would be floored if you had." the lack of conviction in her tone suggested otherwise and Amélie fell quiet briefly as she read, attention half there as her voice picked back up; "You cannot speak nor read French, and it is too raunchy for your tastes, _vieux chien_."

His choice not to comment spoke enough for him, and a quick glance over was oddly pleasing to note that the lilt of his chest was far more natural than what it had been not too long ago, though her hawk-like perception still picked out the spasms of his rejuvenating muscles. The long pause was enough to get her to rise from the seat, slink over towards his resting form and hook a digit under his mask very carefully inching it up.

An amused little hum escaped her as Reaper had fallen asleep in record time, even if the mist that swirled around him collected around the bottom of his feet like a puddle of raindrops. Widowmaker could not comprehend the amount of energy required to have traveled back to base and form a physical being, and decided (for once, perhaps) to let him sleep, slipping the mask back down.

When he awoke an unknown amount of hours later in the dark of the lounge, he felt a light weight of her book resting on his chest, dog ears indicating that it was finished and a small woolen blanket thrown haphazardly over him. Reyes grumbled, unsure if her action was sincere or just to rile him up as he did not want her care. Likely the latter, as she was incapable of the former.

He flipped through the book nonchalantly regardless, pausing when he saw her English translations neatly written on notes she had added into the pages held by paperclips, with a note from her stating to ' _sleep well.'_


	46. Reave

**Title:** Reave

 **Characters:** Dva, Junkrat, Roadhog

 _ **Note** : Hana dealing a bit with the aftermath. I know last chapter I said that was the last loose end, but I've still got this ball of sunshine to explore. Originally I was going to have Jack be present and to focus a bit more on their dynamic but he was kinda stolen for Mercy's moment so.. oops. Have some Junkers instead, because they need to be used more! _

_Also fills in the 'More Roadhog' request, but I have something else in mind with him. I'm trying to go back to fill some of the older requests._

 **Rapid Fire Round**

 **-** _Reaper **will** remember Hana and what she did._

 _\- Addition of Ana to Sniper Duel accepted. The original requester can comment otherwise if they don't want/like this addition._

 _-Hah.. that's sadly just a mistake on my part. I genuinely thought his eyes were grey! I haven't seen Dragons since it first came out, and I never use Hanzo or particularly look at any fanart for him.. I'll keep it in mind for future chapters with Hanzo._

 _\- I'm considering about the future of this fic because of how big it's gotten in terms of writing. I might make other collections, maybe one specifically for shipping, or other ideas. Or would you prefer to see something far more connected and plot driven? What do you think? - Guixi_

* * *

Hana thought that Mercy would have lessened the curfew on her internet, but after the attacks had been of such an unseen level, it was hard to tell which pieces of technology had been compromised and which were safe. She had let out the most frustrated scream in her pillow when she returned to her room one night to find her laptop and other devices confiscated, with only an imploring look of apology deeply resting on Winston's face as he carted the tech away.

After all, with the hacker apparently shown some sort of favouritism with the Korean star, it wasn't too far out of the norm to assume that she could be keeping close tabs. The young adult argued otherwise, but could not make her point without bringing up what truly happened within the game that the hacker wanted her to play.

The choices, like being stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, had been the hardest she ever had to make – No. She would not think about it. She made her choice, and if she hadn't, Soldier would have died. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the image of Jack laying in a pool of his own blood, riddled with bullet holes. Stop _stop_ _ **stop –**_

Hana winced, attention drawn to her slim hands as she had been clenching them rather tightly, enough for little half-moon crescent marks lining her palms. She inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed as she exhaled and pushed her fringe out of her face, only for it to fall harmlessly back into place. This was the exact reason why she had created Dva in the first place, alongside it being a front to deal with her anxiety and stage fright – she did not want to get hopelessly attached to someone, to the point where it became deliberating to even witness harm befalling them.

At the very least, she _had_ acted, in that situation. A bit of an overreaction, but it was better than standing shell-shocked. The residue guilt of causing so much destruction still weighed on her shoulders, but if put in the same place again she likely would follow her own footsteps. She had no idea what that terrorist was capable of.

… Jack did always say never to go in a fight blind, or to rush in head first, and she did both. A humourless, pitiful laugh escaped her at her own foolishness, borne out of agitation. If that man was a match – if not better – than Morrison, what were her chances if she faced against him alone? She figured he wasn't going to fall for the same trick twice, and without her MEKA, she would be useless.

 _Useless._ That word punctured her more than she'd like to admit, and swiftly punched her pillow in response. It recoiled under her blow, only to form back into shape when she lifted her fist away from it. Her days spent drowning in her own self-pity were gone the moment Dva was born. Yet still the tide insidiously crept back to the girl, like an unwanted caress. Even if it was her own mind playing tricks on her, she still rolled back her shoulders and purposefully shook her head, as if trying to free herself from pity's enveloping chains.

Thankfully, a distraction came in the form of her door slamming back on it's hinges, causing her to jump in place and snap her head in that direction, only to roll her eyes as Junkrat barrelled in without warning and announcement as he usually did. He had to stoop to fit through the smaller door frame, and the burly enforcer in tow took one look at it and decided to wait outside, filling it like a bouncer.

"'Ey there, girlie!" cooed the demolition expert, slinging an arm around the increasingly frustrated mech pilot's shoulders, pulling her close in a half embrace. Her nose wrinkled as she smelt nothing but burning, soot and ash all intermingled in some kind of acquired perfume. Junkrat always had little to no sense of personal space or privacy, but she had to draw the line when he didn't stop pulling and their cheeks were pressed uncomfortably together.

Ineffectually, she tried to push him away, but his grip was iron. Fortunately, her will was stronger, and she gritted her teeth, voice pitching higher in annoyance; "What if I was showering or something!? You can't just barge into a lady's room like this, Jamie!"

He pulled away long enough to take one look at her, then sniffed audibly and flared his nostrils as her light scent of bubblegum and peppermint assaulted him. "I'd say get back in, you _stink!_ "

"I am giving you _two seconds_ to let go before I show you some self-defence moves Grandma taught me!"

Her salvation (and by extension, Junkrat's – the moves Ana had taught her were vicious, to say the least) was in the form of the mountain-like man out in the hallway, rumbling a deep, muffled; "Do it."

Junkrat complied at the sound of his employee, and Hana sent Roadhog a rare, appreciative look. The man made no move nor comment to the both of them, boredom rolling off of him like waves as he reclined on the wall behind him, arms folded and only the sound of heavy breathing filtering through his mask. The lanky Junker stuck his pinkie finger nonchalantly into his ear, cleaning it free of spent powder and flicking it onto her clean carpet and threw himself onto her bed, grinning wolfishly.

Huffing, the young adult placed her hands on her hips, glaring down at him, knowing that he meant trouble with such a provocative grin. Either he blew something up he shouldn't have and was really proud of it, or..

"Say, Roadhog and I -"

"It was just you." muttered Mako, though quiet was not his speciality and was overheard easily.

"Fine, fine. _**I**_ , may have, sorta, kinda, maybe, got kicked out of the workshop because, funny story, it turns out that Torby's turrets can be hijacked and went a little crazy thinkin' we were all enemies, and then Symmetra's dress caught on fire, and that was _**hilarious,**_ then this other guy _ **-"**_

"Get to the _point._ " exasperated Hana, one hand rising up to pinch the bridge of her nose, feeling very much like Mercy when handling with extraordinarily difficult patients, like the lounging Junker before her. She was pretty sure her hair was starting to frizz with all the stress needling tension in her.

"We need a place to hide out, 'cause the Boss wants to have me head on a silver platter."

He finished, at least having the decency to look somewhat pleading, though it was lost within his wild, amber eyes. The Korean celebrity merely dragged herself to her desk chair, sinking into it and threw her head against the cushioned back, screwing her eyes shut as a very loud, drawn-out sigh escaped from her, and made vague gesture of acceptance. Jamison whooped, bouncing on her bed in his erratic happiness as Roadhog carefully drew his arms in together and at least attempted to get through the door.

The huge man succeeded and shut the (likely broken) door behind him, but there was little room left given that the space was designated as her bedroom and plopped himself in the centre, jingling like bells from the buckle of his belt and links of his chained hook. He leant back, and Hana watched solemnly as her dresser creaked against the force, pledging a prayer for it not to break. Her prayers were answered.

"Sweet, we really owe you one for -"

"Don't mention it." she grumbled flippantly, swivelling around on her chair and staring at the blank space where her computer once was, a dust trail outlining where the device had been. The Junkers exchanged meaningless looks, as Roadhog's face was obscured by his mask and Junkrat's attention was sporadic at best. He wiggled off the bed, stalking up to the chair and dunked his chin unceremoniously on the top of her head, hands grasping the chair's armrests and spinning the seat left and right.

"You need us to take care of a problem? 'cause I hate seein' you like this, sis'. Gets my stomach upset." he noted, crooked face twisting in flashfire anger at the thought that anyone would mess with his ' _little sister_.' He had always been rather fond of the idea of having a sibling, but with no power to control that, he took what he could get in the form of Hana's colloquialisms. He didn't adopt much else, however.

Roadhog cared little either way; but as she spent more time around his boss – and he was never wary of her to begin with – he formed an odd bond with the wayward young adult. He didn't go out of his way for her as others did that he could list, but he had no qualms 'dealing' with any issues she was willing to bring up if they involved a person he could pummel – ahem, _convince_ , to see her side of things. Plus, Hana's happiness was one of Junkrat's wishes, so it was a win-win for the bulky Junker.

"No." she bluntly stated, lips twitching at him calling her sister. Her mind was once more flooded with her issues of attachment, of which was the true source of her misery. The girl's gaze hardened against the smooth quality of her desk and tapped the tips of her fingers habitually against the edge in an off-beat tune to try and distract her. It didn't help. "And we're not even related, so just _**stop**_."

The spinning halted, and the weight on her head lifted.

Regret was already clamming up her throat, bottling it with a hundred words she wished to say to apologize for the harsh request, regardless if it was truthful or not. She drew in her lower lip in apprehension when her chair was turned to face the unamused wiry man, peg leg stopping the revolving chair by planting firmly against what space was free upon the seat. Her gaze softened, opening her mouth to begin to try and salvage the situation, yet Junkrat was already fired off on a tangent.

"What the bloody hell have _**I**_ done?!" he snapped, lip curling back to reveal uneven teeth as he snarled. His anger was a front; genuinely hurt by her comment and jabbed an accusing finger at her. "Not only won't you tell us what's botherin' ya, but you go and say something like that? I thought I was talkin' to Hana, not Dva."

That struck her to the core, and it must have shown because Junkrat flinched, pulling away a little at the sight of her eyes widening and mouth popping open, trembling slightly. He panicked a little, thinking she would start to cry until she gently pushed him away from her chair and stood up, pacing slightly with her hands running through her curtain of hair. Roadhog observed the two cautiously, making sure that neither of them did anything stupid in a moment of high emotion.

"I am Dva, Jamie." she responded quietly, more of a reminder to herself than him. "And you've done nothing. These past few days have just been rough for me, and no, it's not a person you can beat up."

Junkrat closed his mouth, having been prepared to interrupt.

"When.." she hesitated. Was she really going to open up to two of the worst candidates to help deal with these issues? Her eyes explored their faces; Junkrat's was engaged, hanging on her every word whereas Roadhog still remained an enigma, though the slight inclination of his head spoke volumes. He was listening, his attention was hers. That was an opportunity that did not come often.

Hana supposed simply talking about it – even out loud instead of having it bounce around her mind was better than nothing, and continued. "… When I saw that _mee-cheen-nom_ over Dad and.. the blood, I just _lost_ it. I was in some kind of blind fury as I just wanted to stop what was happening."

"So you nuked the place." helpfully Jamison deducted. "I heard the explosion, that was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard."

"To put it bluntly, yes." she flatly agreed, then continued. "But I can't stop thinking about times when that isn't just going to work. What if I get someone else killed because I rushed head first? What if I -"

"Do what I do." offered the Junker as he fell back onto her bed. He seemed to be taking her opening up surprisingly well – even unperturbed by it. Hana watched him warily as he merely scratched at the tufts of hair, getting dust onto her duvet and made gestures with his mechanical hand. "Don't think about it."

He added before she could scowl; "No, really, mate. You'll just get all kinds of screwed up going over and over the same instance again. I mean, Roadie says it's good to keep .. err.. what did you call it?"

"Awareness."

"Right, awareness of the situation but there's a time and a place, yadda yadda. I'm no good with this sentimental shit." Ever the poet, he stifled a yawn behind his hand, offhandedly quipping; "Mind if we bunk here tonight?"

Hana stared at him, before rolling her eyes. There was a reason she listed them as the worst when it came to her feelings, but at least she managed to open up and not get mocked about it. In any case, it wasn't like she hadn't tried to follow his advice, but saying and doing were two very different things. The choice she had to make during Sombra's game silently kept reminding itself in the back of her mind, no matter what she tried to drown it out. Eventually, she forced herself to talk about it.

"After I completed the hacker's first test, she gave me two options." she started, worryingly holding a despondent tone in the quality of her voice as she gazed absent mindedly at the wall behind Junkrat. "She asked that, on a set of train tracks, with two loved ones on one track and many strangers on another, would I pull the lever changing the track from the family to the crowd."

Confusion flickered through his wild hues, though Jamison made no sound as Hana struggled to finish. In the end, she blinked a few times, snapping out of her thoughts and waved her hand dismissively, as if she said nothing. "Yeah. You can bunk here."

Junkrat frowned, uncertainly wondering if he should bring it up, until Roadhog was the one that spoke up; "Hana."

"You better not snore." she disregarded, pulling out the extra blankets and pillows and tossing them to the floor for them. She had little issues with them sleeping there, as they had often done so previously and explained that, compared to the Outback, her plush carpet was like paradise.

"And I'm sorry, big bro." That was enough to get Junkrat to forget it, as he grinned lopsidedly and thumped her back with his fleshy hand. She jutted forth with the action, but did not make any angry retort as she was want to do. Roadhog grumbled something indiscernible, not as easily persuaded as his employer, but did not push it either way. It was unlike Hana to open up in the first place, but if she didn't want to continue, he understood.

He did however grunt, and said; "Life isn't made up of right or wrong. Just consequences. Not to say it's 'bad'. You deal with them and that's it."

"Yeah, what Roadie said!" enthusiastically Junkrat followed, despite a huffing _'shut up_ ,' from the self-proclaimed one man apocalypse.

"Goodnight." she stated, trying to ignore his nugget of worldly wisdom even if it had burrowed deep into her mind by now. Hana didn't know if she felt any better from talking about it, but at least it was better than keeping it bottled up, right?


	47. Redan

**Title:** Redan **  
**

 **Characters:** Hanzo, Widowmaker (Ana, Winston, Reaper) **  
**

 **Note:** _Okay, the sniper duel. I really like writing Widowmaker's dialogue, it's just coming up with a situation where it's appropiate is the problem methinks. Also, I feel kinda sorry for our Talon agents. So far they've been **nuked** , interrogated, shot at (mainly Reaper here) and now.. well, you'll see what happens to Widow. They already got a chapter together, but somewhere down the line they'll definitely get another spotlight moment for them, even if it's just the two of them chilling. _**  
**

**Rapid Fire Round**

 **-** _I do have an interaction in mind for Reaper and Tracer current, but it's not cute at all. Let's just say there's a reason why it was mentioned about Tracer **supposedly** living forever. Needless to say it wont be for a while, but accepted and I'll see what I can do._

 _\- Thanks for all your feedback relating to my question! I think I'll start up a second collection at some point. I don't know when I'll stop this one, but it's a certainty I'll make a second._

 _\- Tracer and Rein kicking some butt during a mission accepted, and don't worry, it wont be shippy. Rein sees Tracer like a daughter, anyway.  
_

 _\- Thank YOU for your reviews, Anon! HanMei will probably pop up again at some point_

 _\- It's kind of a mix between acute observation (watching how Genji reacts around women vs how he used to) educated guessing and subtle hints Genji dropped himself. The funny thing is, Mercy would completely be medical about ahem, 'fixing something up' for Genji, while the poor guy would be dying inside trying to talk about it. Like he is getting so embarrased because Angela **isn't** , and all she has to do is perk an eyebrow and he's Eliminated. - Guixi  
_

* * *

It took a marginal amount of convincing before Winston reluctantly agreed to allow some missions to happen. He wasn't happy about it one bit – the gorilla considered the base unprotected and compromised while Athena was not running in top condition, and wanted all Overwatch's agents at the ready should Talon strike their hub directly. When days had begun to pass and he was making steadfast progress, it seemed they had no intention of a head on assault.

It was probably for the best, in hindsight. He could sense high tensions beginning to rise as lack of activity set within them, and there were only so many training simulators and gyms that the agents could go through before it just wasn't enough. They missed the thrill of real combat and work-outs were part of their daily lives to the point where they would have noticed it more if they didn't do it.

Winston begrudgingly recalled one damage report of a wrecked combat simulator when Pharah managed to break through the hard-light barriers intended to halt bullets hurting the structures and the foundations of the buildings with a barrage of rockets. Justice was not the only thing that begun raining down upon them when sparks of blue light flickered out of existence. She had the decency to be guilty, unlike Ana, who beamed with pride. Regardless, it was another facility broken due to stress, adding to their list.

Speaking of, she too was becoming rather restless, and a jittery Ana spelt doom for them all. When left unchecked, and without Jack to anchor her tendencies down, she got a little _too_ involved into the agents affairs. Thus lead Winston to finally step away from the complex organized mess of Athena's source code and towards the more plain, simpler, news stories and Tracer's scouting reports.

Talon certainly hadn't rested even with one of their primary agents out of commission. As Tracer reported, though her job had became twenty times easier without the presence of Reaper hindering her trips, there still seemed to be pockets of operatives trying to gun down the elusive time-controller, and were just as effective without their unofficial commander. Perhaps even more so, as Reaper had little love for his given unit and always returned alone. The death of his men were not often by Overwatch's hand.

Eventually, Winston decided that sending their two sharpshooters was the safest choice to handle a situation down in Route 66. There had been disturbing rumours of a possible reformation of the Deadlock Gang, potentially with Talon's help as their presence had been noted in the gorge, given the illicit activities starting to increase. Though without direct confirmation, he didn't want to send manpower on a wild goose chase. Simple reconnaissance would do nicely for the two observers.

Their speciality of subtly would be appreciated too, as he did not want word of it getting to McCree. He would not take kindly to the idea of his old gang getting back together, right under his nose no less and would take matters into his own hands. The gorilla winced – avoiding bloodshed was his main priority here.

The ape reviewed the hastily scribbled report of his best friend once more, easily deciphering her slang and lack of proper military terminology before requesting to see both Hanzo and Ana.

* * *

"I want to emphasize that this is simply recon," Winston rumbled to the two snipers gathered in his office. Ana was slack against her chair, one leg drawn up and arm haphazardly over her knee whilst Hanzo sat rigid, back straight and hands patiently folded on his lap. The two contrasts was amusing to witness, but there was little time to share a laugh in such serious matters.

"Tracer believes to have witnessed a meet up between key Deadlock members that managed to escape Gabriel's.." he paused, reworded what he originally wanted to say and continued. "Ahem, the former Blackwatch leader's crackdown during the original tenure of Overwatch. They were gathering at the very same diner they used as their dead drop location. However she was not close enough to get confirmation, so I am sending you to watch the diner and alert us if and when any illicit activity happens."

He halted for a breath, as well as to gauge their reactions, grimacing as the two held magnificent control of their emotions. A stray thought passed that they would be excellent at poker, should they choose to play. The only give-away of how one of them felt towards the simple but necessary mission was a slight tilt of the archer's head, brows twitching as they furrowed in thought.

It was Ana, who broke the shared silence first with a bemused chortle, sending a glance to her partner for the mission. "Put the rookie with the veteran, and you might as well have one whole soldier, eh?"

"You can achieve my level of skill with practice, Ana _._ There is no shame." he scoffed, voice rough as he flayed the elderly woman with a piercing look. She matched it with a cool indifference and perked brow of challenging question, but ultimately withdrew from the short battle of wits when she turned her head to Winston. Hanzo added; "With all due respect, Winston, this mission does not seem to require _two_ agents. Would it not be more efficient to utilize Tracer once again?"

The gorilla grimly shook his head. "I considered it, but in her report, she also states catching sight of Talon. The risk is simply too great; and I would prefer the situation handled from a distance, something better suited for your capabilities."

Hanzo was not entirely convinced, but he did not argue either way. He was more than happy to handle missions, even if this particular one came with an additional agent, because at least that way his primary skills were put to use. He did not want to divulge in how he felt somewhat adrift upon returning from Hanamura, unable to help much with the restoration of the base.

"If you have any questions..?" Winston asked and when neither sniper raised a complaint, he nodded. "Good. Your flight is scheduled to take off in thirty minutes. Stay safe."

* * *

Though Route 66 stood the testament of a simpler time, with age old buildings decaying from disuse, barely shells of their former selves as they lined the historic route within the gorge. There were many derelict diners and empty gas stations, broken down cars designed from an age gone by, with only the occasional replaced road sign with it's words and meanings clouded by the dusty winds, it was not the first thing that Hanzo noticed.

No, it was the unbearable _heat._

He was going to throttle his partner for choosing a high vantage point, because it put them all that closer to the sun. It bore down upon them like an oppressive force, sticky humid heat assaulting their faces as they worked to set up Ana's bird nest quite the distance away from location they were watching, marked by the nearby billboard riddled with bullet holes from a shoot out that happened who knows when.

Ana didn't seem perturbed by it at all. In fact, she basked in it, as it reminded her strongly of her home and making Hanzo moderately envious. He wasn't about to let the weather get the better of him, and thus kept a neutral face as he assisted in setting up their radio back to base.

After plugging the last cable, Hanzo huffed quietly and wiped the sweat off his brow, resisting the urge to flinch when the elderly woman held out a handkerchief for him. He looked at it once, debated if he should accept _any_ sort of aid, and finally relented when a trickle of perspiration dripped off of his nose. He swiped it from her hand and wiped his face clean.

"Thank you, Hanzo." she tittered behind him, relaxing lazily against one of the crates he had carried up. He was trying to recall if she had done _anything_ to set her own nest up, and realized in irritation that she had done very little. Naturally, the senior knew how to play off of his honour and respect to get what she wanted - Ana didn't need to play _the age card_ (as Hana coined it), but it was amazing how a few words holding vast implications could browbeat a person into helping.

"If that is all," he stiffly said, tossing the piece of cloth unceremoniously anywhere within the nest and glanced out. "I will be heading closer. I cannot work from such a distance."

"Keep your earpiece in." she told, seriously. Hanzo made a move towards the ladder until he was stopped by her hand shooting out and grasping at his arm, forcing him to glance back, stonily staring at the offending hand. She smiled, and though the sentiment did not reach her good eye, her tone was sincere. "I mean it. You could be spotted out there – one word and I'll bail you out. Understood?"

He opened his mouth, a hundred retorts on the tip of tongue that could cut her to the bone, but as he searched her face and rolled her words in his mind for anything between the lines, all of his sharp venom fizzled into nothing. Ana may be many things, but the amount of concern she held for him was.. _bizarre_ to feel after his self-imposed exile. He hesitantly nodded, though it was masked easily behind complete composure.

"I will not require support," he grumbled, though his words lacked his usual aloof inflection. ".. but I will keep that in mind, Amari senior."

"You are allowed to call me Ana, young man." she joked, and he could've sworn he saw a playful twinkle within her eye. No, must have been the sand in the air. Ana was anything but relaxed around him, and for good reason.

Hanzo descended down the ladder after that, cocking a hand over his temple to provide shade for his eyes from the overbearing brightness. The marksman spotted a rather useful walkway embedded into the canyon walls, obstructed by the towering rocks that would provide both cover, and an adequate position. The only downside was that the wooden planks looked weather-worn and even brittle in some corners of the walkway. He was unsure how stable it actually was, and if it could support him.

Not to matter. He knew how to distribute his weight and balance across even the most slippery or smallest surfaces. The boards will pose no issue.

What would pose an issue, as he rounded the corner, finding a pillar of stone with a forgiving enough rock face for him to climb, was that the boardwalk seemed to be already occupied. He only noticed when he was halfway up, brown hues staring comically at the – _**strangely**_ pale blue woman in an outfit unsuitable for her job, if her rifle was any indication. The scope was slotted over her right eye, with Hanzo conveniently out of her field of vision.

Many questions rose in his mind, but his instincts came first, after the sizzling heat of the rocks was starting to scorch his palms. He thinned his breathing; keeping it slow and quiet as he carefully scaled the pillar, mindful of any loose pebbles that could fall and alert the woman, though her attention was given towards the diner. Fingertips brushed against the wood of the boards and halted completely when he stopped just short of what looked like a _mine._

He heaved his sigh of relief inwardly, instead drawing back his hand closest to the spider-like mine. Judging from the purple liquid sloshing within the fragile glass casing, and the built up gas staining it the same colour, he was going to make an educated guess and say it was poisonous. His own family utilized such weaponry too, though it often skirted around the edge of what was acceptable and not – Hanzo preferred a clean, painless kill. Excess suffering could not be deemed honourable.

The archer tugged off the blue sash tied around his waist, instead wrapping it around the lower half of his face in a makeshift gas mask. It wouldn't be nearly as effective, but it would have to do, especially if the woman was armed with other such equipment he had seen used by assassins. Now secured, he gently hauled himself to the top, drawing out his Storm Bow and lowering himself to a crouch, preparing an arrow –

The board creaked.

Motionless. He remained like a statue, gaze glued on the Talon sharpshooter as he watched her lips twitch in idle thought, pulling her head back away from the scope, yet remained facing the diner. The oddly shaped visor rose to reveal yellow eyes, like two topazes lined to make a jewelled cat's eye. As the arrow became notched on the string of his bow, he observed her slim hands sliding across her unique sniper rifle, modifying it to become fully automatic.

"If you were going to shoot me, you would have by now." she purred. Hanzo's grip did not falter, arrow still aimed for her neck. She was correct, though. Even if the boards had given away his position, he could have taken the shot with ease. His white flecked brows knitted together as she spoke once more, her voice caressing every vowel, every syllable; "Am I to be flattered that the great Shimada lord shows mercy to me?"

"I am a lord no longer," he spat, his own tenor rough and calloused as his abrasive personality. It didn't seem to phase her, in fact she seemed to _enjoy_ it, shamelessly letting her gaze wander. "I have yet to decide what I am to do with you."

 _Perhaps an eye instead_ , his thoughts rang, and repositioned the bow accordingly. As she tilted her head, she noticed the arrow follow, and laughed lowly. It lacked any sort of mirth or goodwill – empty like so many promises she had given, and took a slow, mocking step forth, scrutinizing the tension in the bow string.

"No, you're not." she agreed, her own rifle lowered and touching the boards, as if to show she was not going to fire. Winston had not exactly explained what he expected them to do should they actually come across the rumoured Talon presence, though the likely choice was either to neutralize them or bring them into custody. Considering how well the latter worked, he doubted they were prepared for _that_ again.

Yet, he hesitated – a rare, conflicted moment within himself upon seeing that she became unarmed, rifle resting idle upon the boards as she was alarmingly a lot closer than she had been, enough to press the tip of a manicured finger against the head of the notched arrow, lowering it and by extension, his bow, leaning forward just an inch to drawl; "But you _could_ be again."

He bristled, wary of her and whipped the arrow away from her digit fast enough to cause the metallic head to slice the skin on her finger. There was a brief wince, though it was a shallow cut, and she drew her hand away, teasingly nursing the cut finger against her lips. He sneered, trying not to let the temptress dissuade him, but dare not glance towards the diner. Hanzo made sure to be short when he snapped, seemingly tugging at his ear in habit;

"You know not of what you speak –"

"The Shimada empire can be rebuilt." she cut him off coolly. "Just like our pathetic little _friends_ down there; we have the resources to support your family, and secure your position on your clan's throne, as it should have been all those years ago. You have incredible foresight, Hanzo. Can you not see Overwatch are merely using you, as they do your sweet brother?"

His temper flared at the mention of things she had no business talking of, but strangely let her speak, relaxing back up into a standing position. Amélie took this as a winning sign, and boldly took another step forth, angling her head just slightly downwards as he happened to be an unfortunate inch shorter.

Then, more gently, consoling, Widowmaker traced the back of the very finger he had cut down his cheek. "Leave them. They are but a bunch of headless chickens with a monkey for a leader. They were gift-wrapped an opportunity to destroy us through Reaper's capture, and look what they did with it. They _blew up their own base_."

Hanzo withheld his cringe. When it was put like that, it really did make the former peacekeeping force look like incompetent, inexperienced children, but he had come to witness their skill and empathy first hand. Though at face value that looked to be what happened, the truth of the matter was far more complicated. She capitalized on his silence, finishing the last spin of her woven words with a succinct;

"Join Talon. You will never be disappointed or embarrassed again."

"At what cost?" he mused, rhetorical. Widowmaker's lips pursed into a thin frown – Hanzo was a clever man, and not one that would easily fall for simple trickery such as her seductive guile, and there was the problem of his pride. He would never be subservient, though Talon had their little way around that, as she was living proof. Her finger reached his jawline, stalling for a second too long before he captured her wrist and forcefully pulled her hand away; his grip like a vice and his gaze just as strong.

"I will have to decline Talon's offer. I have little interest in furthering the Omnic crisis." he told, and let go when she begun to tug her hand away. He surprised her (perhaps her conditioning was slipping away with how easily that seemed to happen – ) with a flash of a grin, pearly whites hidden behind lips as he stated; "Though I am inclined to thank you for completing my mission."

She froze. " _Excusez-moi?_ "

" _Have you considered diplomacy? It seems you have a knack for keeping the enemy talking._ " Ana snickered in his ear through the comm-piece he had activated earlier. " _Try not to make too much noise up there, dear. You'll wake the kids down below_."

Sure enough, as Widowmaker had attempted to persuade Hanzo, she had to abandon her post to do so, allowing the second sharpshooter to quietly take out the returning Deadlock rebels whom barely reached the front door before she pounced. There were around four in total, all of them fast asleep with a full dosage from Ana's sleep darts. Snarling at the mission failure when a quick glance confirmed as such, all pretence of flirtation dropped as Amélie swung her hand forward and shot out a poisonous mine at the archer.

Out of reflex, he stopped it with his bow that was weighty enough to have quite the striking force; easily cutting through the fragile metal. It exploded into a cloud of choking gas, and thanks to Hanzo's foresight to cover his mouth and nose with the sash beforehand, it didn't effect him as well as it could've. It still stung his eyes though, and eventually he begun to cough and back away, giving Widowmaker enough time to swipe her rifle up from the ground and let loose a flurry of bullets, heading towards the edge of the platform.

Swiftly recovering and moving through the cloud of gas he whipped out an arrow and fired it quickly – it wasn't as powerful as being able to aim and charge it, but it was deadly enough at such a close range. It grazed past her arm, cutting it and leaving a trail of dripping blood in it's wake. She hissed, her tolerance for pain admirable compared to most. He had no time to fire a second one as he had to duck, weave and roll out of her fire.

That seemed to be her intention, immediately turning towards the diner and firing off a grappling hook that pierced into the metal of the building's sign, pulling her towards the other side. It was the lesser of two evils of her choices – stay and fight close range and be skewered or attempt an escape and face the consequence of a free shot – he took such an action and aimed at her retreating form, letting loose an arrow.

A reaction finally stirred from the remorseless sniper as a scream ripped from her throat, the arrow impaling through her calf, the head of it several inches in and causing her to crash on top of the roof, tumbling ungracefully near the edge. She groaned, eyes screwed shut as a second wind picked up long enough for her to pull herself behind the sign, just in time as another projectile penetrated the flimsy metal where her head had been moments ago. She eyed it distastefully, before reluctantly dragging her gaze to her bleeding leg.

Widowmaker knew she needed medical attention. Though she personally could cope with the pain and make her shots just as accurately, her body needed to be tended to. A small part of her wormed through, and the thought of dying on top of the roof of some forsaken diner in the middle of no-where was not how she wanted to go. The back of her head hit the sign, grumbling a multitude of curses as she fished out for the emergency communications device.

" _She should answer for her crimes_." the oddly diverse voice of Ana filtered over the din, with Hanzo pausing his pursuit by listening in, impatiently staring at the roof as the elderly debated with something. " _We wouldn't need quite the specialized cell to hold her in as we did with Gabriel.. Though we never managed to extract information from him, I doubt Widowmaker will prove any more useful. Perhaps we should take her into custody –_ "

"Are you prone to ramble, or is this an order from Winston?" he interrupted huffily, hopping down from the walkway and rushing towards the diner, slinging his bow over his shoulder as he began to climb it.

" _Hm? Oh, merely rambling while I'm trying to get this blasted radio to work, dear. You_ _ **did**_ _connect the wires properly, didn't you?_ "

He ignored her, drawing his bow once he was on the roof top, notching an arrow and slowly manoeuvring around the sign to be face-to-face with the barrel of her rifle. A battle of their reaction speeds took place as the Japanese marksman won by a fraction, crouching out of the way and feeling the wind of the bullet sail over the top of his head, cutting through the bolt of cloth that tied his hair up.

Hanzo felt the hot heat begin to whip against his face as the winds picked up and the distinct sound of an aircraft approached them. He suspected it must have been in wait near by to have arrived so quickly, and was forced to back off due to Widowmaker's suppressive fire. He felt no shame in doing so, as their mission had been a grand success, with an additional bonus of weakening one of Talon's top agents. They exchanged a look – golden hues searching earthly brown – as he jumped from the roof top, slowing his descent with the nearby support structure and eluding the soldiers on the aircraft.

Widowmaker sneered, but wasted no time in waiting for the soldiers to come down, and used her hook once more to ascend into the vehicle. As they began securing her with the on board medic looking at her leg, she could not speak as quickly as her mind noticed Hanzo firing a scatter arrow from below.

" _Bouge de là_ – !"

The arrow split into many parts as it begun ricocheting within the vehicle. Panic kicked in as the soldiers were frantic in avoiding the fast moving shot. Had the field medic not been looming over her, she would have died – the projectile punctured through his head and his limp body fell on top of her. Her lip curled in disgust, and practicality won out as she used the corpse as a shield whilst the fragments were still seeking blood.

Two more victims were claimed by the scatter, the co-pilot and a soldier, with another wounded man clutching at his shoulder and writhing in agony. Widowmaker shoved the dead medic off of her and glared down at the Japanese archer as the aircraft hastily began to leave.

 _Amateur_. She scowled deeply. Had the positions been reversed, she would have hit her intended target, not leave it up to _chance._

* * *

When Amélie returned to base, after the surgery to remove the arrow, she absolutely refused to meet Reaper's undoubtedly smug gaze as she sat brooding in the same lounge he had crashed in before. At least the cleaners had dutifully managed to get rid of the bloodstains from the carpet. Her foul mood only increased as she knew with certainty he was staring at her cast just to annoy her.

"The Chairman will want you to report in." Reyes mocked. The ' _angel of death_ ' looked far too casual than he ought, with the lack of his armour making the black clothing seem informal, whereas she remained in complete uniform, despite the lack of reason to do so.

His wheezing, **genuine** cackle of boisterous laughter was burned in her mind when she threw a book at him and _missed._


	48. Reforge

**Title:** Reforge **  
**

 **Characters:** Various

 _ **Notes:** Kudos to _

EthanTheRenegade

 _for the idea of D &D McCree. Sadly I know next to nothing about D&D, but.. I hope this suffices. Also used the 'Games night' idea as well, which had been suggested awhile ago, so I'm just mixing the two requests into one. I think I'll start adding names to people's requests because It's started to get difficult to keep track of it. Anyway. This chapter is definitely just filler, but It fills the 'slice of life' aspect side. It's nice to have them all happy and relaxed for once instead of high tension, action and angst. **  
**_

**Rapid Fire Round**

 _ **-** Shimada Brothers chapter accepted (Dragunz) I still need to finish off that Genji storyline from like, near the beginning of the fic._

 _ **-** Blackwatch is still very much a secret, as what caused OW's original fall (among many other things) was the public attributing BW's atrocities to the main sister organization, as they didn't know BW existed. Gabriel, publically, was known and credited as someone befitting a Captain status, like Ana. Winston was reluctant to say his name/speak of BW because a) Hanzo's presence and lack of knowledge and b) he doesn't want to tarnish the memory he has of Reyes, before the whole, you know, Reaper stuff.  
_

 _\- I did actually get a DDR request sometime back. I'll note the dancing one too!_

 _-groans; I knew I got grey eyes from **somewhere** , but, oh well. I'll keep them as brown now._

 _-Talon's base, as I envision it, is scarily similar to BW's section of the OW base, mainly because of how much of BW got absorbed into Talon when Reyes died and became Reaper. There's a lounge, bar, shooting ranges, gyms, you name it, they probably have it in there. - Guixi  
_

* * *

Much like the time when a wild blizzard had snowed them all in years ago, the agents of Overwatch were drawn back into the bar for a game's night due to the events that had happened. Part of it was to monitor Winston's blood pressure, as the stress of the damage, hitting a roadblock once again with Athena and the hacker's code had made him testy and frustrated. At least this way, they were not going to risk another facility destroyed or the great gorilla suffering a heart attack.

There was a warm din of chatter and clinking glasses as the agents talked amongst themselves, absorbed in their activities of setting up the games, gathering the drinks or refilling at the bar. The tender had never seen such a busy night, but as always he kept to himself and dutifully served their drinks with haste, never once getting an order mixed up. Few stayed on the stools – Symmetra nursed a drink at the bar as she was quite happy to spend her time creating artwork upon the back of the coasters, mind an enigma and parting with beautiful designs for those willing (or drunk enough) to flip them over.

Torbjörn sat a few seats down from the hard-light manipulator, for once not looking as if he was in a permanent state of working within a blast furnace as his beard was free of oil and grease and his tools left in their rightful places within the workshop. He seemed content to be scribbling away at a magazine full of word related puzzles, likely loaned from Angela's stash. If there was any bad habits their resident angel could admit to, it was hoarding books of crosswords and word searches, most of them half complete within the fleeting moments she got to herself. Angela enjoyed language, vocabulary and exercise relating to them, considered it an art in of itself.

Speaking of, the woman's laughter rang out like harmonious chimes tinkling in the wind; her companion opposite her, Reinhardt, grinning ear to ear as he continued to regale her with.. _something_. Unfortunately his words were lost to any eavesdroppers as he spoke passionately in German, his accent all but smoothed out, caressing around the words of his mother tongue rather than abrasively against them. It was one of the few times he was able to speak it without fear of miscommunication – Angela was fluent and her enunciation succinctly elegant, as expected.

Tucked in the corner and mostly hidden from view due to the booth's doors were Hanzo and Mei. The latter had been bold enough to step up her choice of sparkling water to lemonade, though the former knew it was a long night to come and settled on something peach-flavoured, though he did not disclose just exactly what his drink was in caution that his sweet tooth may be discovered. Nevertheless, the placement of Mei's glass indicated she had been adjacent to him earlier, but had since moved to sit beside him as the two of them worked together on a difficult _k_ _akuro_ puzzle.

Originally, Mei had (shyly) suggested _xiangqi_ , though the archer admitted if it was a chess-styled game they were to play, he rather it be _shogi._ Fondly, he remembered how it was the only game he was able to best his younger brother in, aside from archery sports and falconry. They settled on something that would suit them both, in the end, hence the _kakuro_ _._

The game of chess however fell on – surprisingly – Hana's shoulders, whom fidgeted, sipping her cola drink through a straw and aggressively analysing the battlefield of white and black pieces. It was not really her go-to idea of fun, but with all of her electronics confiscated and little interest in card games it fell to this. An arrogant grin played at her lips as she glanced up at her opponent, Zenyatta. The Shambali monk drifted above his seat, fingers steeped and allowing the young adult as much time as she wanted.

"Check," she smugly stated, moving her knight into place and resting her chin on the palm of her hand. Zenyatta's head tilted down to regard the board before him, humming gently as he nodded.

"An excellent play, Miss Song." he commended. Hana was not expecting that, flushing a bright pink as she pulled back and awkwardly shuffled in her seat. No matter the game, she got very competitive, and if he held the advantage, she certainly wouldn't be complimenting him. Humbly, she glanced away offered a slight, lopsided smile. Zenyatta seemed to sense her thoughts, as a soft chortle escaped him – what a vibrant sound, so natural yet clearly synthetic at the same time – and said;

"Being competitive nurtures motivation and spirit, though one often becomes blinded by it's actions. Effective;" he moved his queen piece, overtaking her knight and simultaneously putting her in check, seamlessly finishing his sentence at the same time, "Yet destructive. One must find a balance, or risk being consumed."

She studied the board, fingers curled at her lips as her brows furrowed in thought, over the monk's words and the move she should take. Hana was very much learning the game from him, and if he possessed lips they would have twisted into a huge smile. He had noted the way her reckless, illogical moves had broke into more calculated manoeuvres by the third match, and was pleasantly surprised at how quick of a learner she was. In reality, she was putting that extra effort in to make up for the first match they had – she had lost to ' _fool's mate._ '

Genji had popped over, as he was waiting for the rowdy duo to appear – they couldn't begin their card game without a deck, and it seemed McCree was it's keeper. He folded one arm behind his back, tilting his torso downward as he hovered just above and behind Hana's shoulder. He made sure she was aware of his presence by gently nudging her arm so she would not be frightened when he whispered;

"Move the rook to E7."

Her response was the palm of her free hand planted over his visor, pushing his head away absent mindedly. The cyborg smiled behind his mask, chuckling quietly – though it was quickly drowned out by a rather loud, booming guffaw coming from Mercy's table. His attention snapped up, his own merriment fading rapidly as he observed the two curiously– Whatever Reinhardt had said, it was enough to bring Mercy into joyous tears, wiping under her eyes with a napkin as the grand knight slapped his knee.

Genji tried to ignore the light _tip-tapping_ of Zenyatta's fingers, even more so when his master spoke. "It is pleasant to hear spirits so high after a time of strife." Then, more seriously – surgically precise – he questioned.

"Do you desire clarity?"

The cyborg redistributed his weight to the other foot, uncomfortable with engaging such discussion with Hana present, though the Korean star was deeply involved with the game before her and not much else. With a slight scoff, Genji waved a gesture of dismissal.

"It would be rude of me to intrude like that." he murmured. It was – cute, that he wondered of their conversation, and the knot of jealousy faded as quickly as it came, as if he thought better. The monk beamed proudly that his student did not allow himself to get clouded by such things any longer.

The arrival of such sprightly energy stopped Zenyatta responding. It was hard not to notice Lena appearing, after all. She tended to become the life of any party, with plenty of bright, dynamic smiles to share and her own brand of wisdom often hidden between enigmatic language – slang was not something the monk was particularly well versed in, after all. Regardless, where there was Tracer, the cowboy was not far behind.

"'Ey, love!" she chirped, slinging an arm around Genji's waist as he was far too tall for her to comfortably drape it around his shoulders. He didn't mind, tilting his head down at her and warmly regarding her through softer inflections of his voice, ruffling her hair much to her giggling chagrin. Tracer tried to swat his hand away, but he managed to mess up the already crazy nest. He had the decency to gently pat it down back to some semblance of normality.

"Good evening, Lena. I thought you would be the first here when the game's night was called."

"Got a little side-tracked." she nudged his side, cocking her head towards McCree who had caught up, tipping his hat in greeting and respect. The living weapon paused at her implication, studying the tanned man's flushed face and her all too cheery attitude. Sadly, the subtly was quickly squashed when the American spoke.

"Lost that deck of cards. Again." he stated ruefully. "Feels like I've been runnin' a marathon all 'round the base try'na find a pack, but guess poker night's gonna have to be rescheduled."

"Not to worry, love." cheerfully Tracer made light of the situation, slipping away from the cyborg's side to pat the westerner's arm reassuringly; offering a perky little smile. Naturally, he returned it, and she added; "I'm sure there's something around here we could do."

He didn't have enough time to reply, because the woman had already blinked over to the centre table where the collection of board games rested. She sat, cross-legged on the seat as she sifted through the games. There were some classics, like _Scrabble_ , trivia-related games and some miscellaneous military strategy ones, but it seemed what she called the 'good stuff' had already been taken. The thought of the console in the lounge crossed her mind, but unfortunately Lucio had staked his claim on it long before anyone else did.

Her eyes fell towards a colourful box that seemed quite hefty. Lena lifted the lid to check if all the pieces were there, only to be surprised by the complexity. There seemed to be many boards and character pieces, as well as something that looked like sheets with statistics and names that made no sense to her. Oh well, it looked fun. That's all that mattered.

When she returned, barely a second in reality though it felt like a few minutes to her and gave her answer in the form of an uncertain grin and a shrug and showed them the box. The name on the lid read ' _Dungeons & Dragons._'

"Huh. I remember playin' this." McCree mused to himself, gaining an incredulous snicker from Genji. Jesse's brows furrowed in confusion, turning to question him.

"Hah – I am sorry, McCree. In hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that you enjoy role-playing games." The insinuation went over the outlaw's head, even as he stood looking like something straight out of the old west, unironically, at that. "I don't think I can wipe the image of very dangerous rebels playing this game from my mind."

"Well, I didn't play it with _them_." he grumbled, cryptic. "I guess you could say I've always been a story-teller."

Jesse didn't like delving too much into his past, and even less about himself that wasn't common knowledge. But he was known for his wild tales and did not mind reiterating as such. He leaned back, sombrely remembering heading down the dusty route to the nearby backwater town that Deadlock's often did business in.

He shared those stories with the kids in the seedier parts New Mexico area, of course. The ones less fortunate than most, that didn't have a mother or a father to tell it for them. The blood money collected from his work was almost always spent on helping them – buying blankets, fresh clothes, food and clean drinking water. Daringly enough, he helped a few of the children into the Deadlock base simply so they could _bathe_ safely _._

And at the end of it all before he had to be back on the road again, he told them stories. It evolved into something more interactive when their imaginations ran rampant with his cliffhangers. His favourite moments were always returning and seeing what they did with the story after he had to leave the story uncompleted. He started incorporating the best ones, and that in turn got the orphans to start making up their own. It helped, to know that if he had to leave permanently, that they would always have that.

Yet all of this was firmly under lock and key in his mind, letting Genji laugh at his expense. It didn't bother McCree one bit, finding security within the truth. Tracer, whom had been reading the extensive list of rules, grimaced that it seemed to fill the length of a book and interjected.

"Think we _might_ need more players than three."

As if on cue, Dva finally made her move against Zenyatta, reclining back on her seat, inspecting her nails casually as it seemed she did take Genji's advice after wasting far too many minutes that, in a real chess match, would've cost her the game. There were only a handful of obvious moves that the monk could make, and all of them lead to her victory.

The Shambali spent a fraction of a second idle before moving his piece, utterly catching her off-guard as she did not see that move being a possibility. "Checkmate. That was an invigorating battle of wits, Miss Song."

"Yeah, yeah.." she muttered, trying not to be a sore loser, especially towards someone as kind as Zenyatta. He frankly didn't deserve poor sportsmanship, and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly as she huffed and turned away, directing her gaze towards the three looking for more players. She pushed herself from the chair to join them, sending Zenyatta a brief dip of her head in gratitude for the games.

" _Dungeons and Dragons_?" she questioned when reading the title off the lid, dropping the cover unceremoniously back on the table and crashing in the nearest seat. "I'll play. Can't take losing three times in a row."

"The more the merrier, lil' lady!" welcomed McCree, still in the process of sorting out a character for Tracer, who was adamant to have it as a pilot despite there being no sort of aviation in the game. She had to be the most indecisive player he'd ever seen – heck, even the kids were easier to handle. Genji returned from the bar as he left to fetch them all drinks, only to have to turn back and grab another for Hana.

All was settled in the end, and what followed was a game of epic proportions, helped with many alcoholic drinks. Hana, the only sober one at the end, though on her eighth can of cola, eyed the drunken players and lamented the loss of a phone to record the session.


	49. Regrow

**Title:** Regrow

 **Characters:** Ana, Pharah

 **Note:** _The Pharah and Ana chapter, as requested some time ago. I forgot who had requested it (oops) but here you go anyway. Next chapter is 50th, and well, I have something special planned for that. It's not anything that's been requested, but I think we can all say it's been a long time coming. It will also have a chapter name that doesn't begin with 're', wow! It's all planned out, just gotta be written.  
_

 **Rapid Fire Round**

\- _DDR = Dance Dance Revolution. I think your review has been a bright spot for me, because I never expected my story really to have that kind of effect on people. Gosh, I'm grinning like McCree who just told a bad joke. You are very kind, Dragunz_

 _\- Yes, yes they do. I think the entire base shares that sentiment. Some bet it will never happen. Some bet it will. The current pool is (in various currencies) around £350 value._

 _\- No, Jack's being a grumpy old fart in his office catching up on work. Hana declared it the 'No Fun Zone.'_

* * *

In all of her years, in all of her experience, nothing was as difficult as being a parent.

The mask of cool, composed confidence slipped easily over her wrinkled face, single good eye flickering up from the brew of tea to the equally calm woman opposite her. While the elder Amari was content to have her legs tucked neatly under her in yet another strange (but comfortable) sitting position she tended to get in, the junior was ramrod straight, hands beside her and military protocol dictated helmets off at the table, giving her access to the impossible-to-tell face of Pharah.

It had taken some time before the grudge between daughter and mother had weakened to the point she would finally accept an invitation of tea with her. By not fault of Ana – she had tried to move mountains to get Fareeha to speak to her as she once did, even resorting to slipping in Arabic. That merely got a bristle out of her and a strict, distinctively English response whenever she tried to have a private conversation addressing the matters.

There had been many times Jack's advice resounded in her mind. _Give her time. Let her cool down. Don't smother her – yes, Ana, you smother._ She scoffed quietly, shaking her head in bemusement. The sniper appeared never to take his advice, merely jest how the tables had turned, how it usually fell on her shoulders to console. The ex-commander gave a half-hearted shrug at that, and she didn't get a reply.

In the end, that's what she did. She let her fume, let her rant and scream to Angela or McCree when she thought that Ana wasn't watching or hearing and stayed out of her way. Of course she was still cordial with her, and on missions, that took precedent which they both understood. The older woman never knew how much Fareeha appreciated being given time until the younger simply asked if she would like a cup of tea.

The silence between them was stifling, but oddly familiar and companionable. Pharah tended to have that effect, as she was naturally a quiet woman who enjoyed her own company – that wasn't to say she hated socializing, on the contrary, she quite liked reading a good book with others present, so long as they were not overtly loud. Ana also knew she was not one for small talk, and all the conversational topics on the tea, or the weather fizzled from the tip of her tongue.

She was content to study her face, a small smile of pride blooming at just how well her daughter had grown over the years, into the lovely young woman before her. Fareeha's hair was the same silky-black curtain of locks that Ana used to have, except shamefully shorter. By all accounts she had turned out perfectly – never touched drugs, never smoked, no criminal offences, had a great education and military accolades that rivalled her own.

It was the last part that nagged at her. Not envy – no, Ana cared very little about her own military accomplishments, but the fact that Pharah possessed them was.. disheartening. She wanted her to stay away from the same path of life the mother had walked, to have a nice quiet life away from the turmoil of war. Most importantly: to be _**safe.**_ It felt as if all the work she had done to make the world a better place for her daughter was all for naught, even if she desperately tried to ignore Morrison's reminder – Fareeha can very well take care of herself.

Like the opportunity with the man that plagued her thoughts daily had passed by, it made her feel _unwanted_. As if a meddling nuisance who had no business getting involved.

Dire thoughts had little effect on the iron-willed mask, and she lifted the cup of tea to take a languid sip, bowing her head slightly at the wonderful, comforting taste, before the whiplash of her mind reminded her of the time spent as a rogue bounty-hunter. The jobs she had accepted, the levels she went to clean up the world's scum – all for Fareeha, even for McCree, Tracer and the memory of the former Overwatch – filled her with discord against herself and the actions she took to make sure she could not be tracked during that time. Every day, the emotional pain of knowing the outcome when facing her daughter once more..

"This tea is lovely." Ana said suddenly, derailing her train of thought, even if she knew Fareeha preferred not to dance around the elephant in the room. "But then again, I shouldn't be surprised. You are my daughter, and no agent has yet resisted my tea."

"Yes. I am your daughter." reiterated Fareeha, tone flat. The sniper was well acquainted with such a tone of voice – she was furious and was holding her temper in admirably, instead handling the situation with control rather than power. "I have never had any other identity other than that to you, have I?"

"Now, Fareeha -"

Ana was silenced when the younger woman held up her hand, lips fidgeting as she fought off a frown that tried to mar her beautiful face. The senior had no qualms in doing so however. She was no pushover, not even to her own daughter and would not tolerate any disrespect in the slightest, but heeding her friend's words, she would let her speak freely. Pharah studied her mother, expecting her to continue anyway and softened just a touch when she didn't. Clearing her throat, the woman began.

"You inspired me, as a person, a legend and as a mother. When I said I wanted to grow up to be an agent, I was always thinking of you. I looked up and respected you far more than you can imagine." She paused, but Ana suspected it was not for breath, but to steady the wavering inflections that threaten to crack. "And I grieved for you too, when we held your funeral. I always thought that I could handle the day you might not return from a mission, but I couldn't."

Pharah heaved a quiet sigh, hands curling into fists by her sides as she continued. "I held nothing but love and respect, and you _visit_ Jack first and _**send me a letter.**_ "

Ana winced. When it was put like that, it really shined a spotlight on things that were often swept under the rug. She had her reasons and she would stick by them, but never did she think what she did was the right thing. If given the chance, she probably would change her making her appearance known, but then again, if Reaper had not been hunting her (and Jack, in a different sense), she wouldn't have _**had**_ to.

"Why? Was the disappointment in me for joining the military and becoming security chief so great, because I didn't fill out your ideals of what you wanted me to become?"

"I have _never_ been disappointed in you." softly Ana was allowed to interject. "In time, I think you will come to understand how everything I have done has been for you. It always has."

"Then make me understand, **now**." Pharah gritted her teeth, tenseness settling in her shoulders as the wrestling match over her temper was beginning to lose, and she wanted nothing more than to hit the gym and take her frustration out on a punching bag. "I don't have _time_ to understand _later._ You'll be dead when I hit your age, and none of this will get resolved."

She fell quiet, and Ana gently rubbed the rim of the cup with her index finger, gaze directed to the chocolate brown colour of the tea. Even to her own daughter, the senior was a secretive person, and to open up and shed light on her actions that would become clear in it's own time felt.. alien and invasive. The magnitude of her life was simply too heavy, and it would be cruel to have someone else share that burden.

One single look at Fareeha's slipping control, eyes flinching as it seemed she was holding back the floodgate of her emotions sorted out the choice she should made. How many times she had to regurgitate the same answer to the former Overwatch members asking the same question, and it would be only now the truth came out.

"Gabriel was losing himself to his own destructive jealousy." she started stonily. "Jack ignorantly chose to ignore his friend's desire for recognition for years, and it was steadily grating on him, and _who_ do you think was caught in the middle of their crossfire?"

A beat passed, though the look of Fareeha's face suggested she knew who. A humourless smile rested on Ana's lips as an equally mirthless chortle escaped her. "Every day I had to put up with their bickering about each other. Every day I had to play peace keeper to an unstoppable force against an immovable object. And every day, Overwatch took my diligence and _**capitalized**_ on it."

There was a reason Ana held the longest record of missions completed out of any agent. There was always a saying that went around about the military and competence, and the sharpshooter hated ever displaying any sort of prowess. It tore her apart from her daughter, it thrust her head first into life-threatening situations that risked making Fareeha an orphan, and at the end of it all, it became one huge thankless job.

Especially returning back to base, tired, sometimes injured but otherwise exhausted, having to deal with being collared by Reyes and have to endure his hectic ranting. If it wasn't about Jack, it was Lena. If it wasn't Lena, it was McCree. There was _never_ any end to it. The time she had actually snapped and screamed to give her _five minutes_ to at least remove her combat uniform, that was when she realised something.

"I needed a break, that much I have said is true." she mused, gaze never lifting from that cup of tea. "Overwatch was my life. I was never Ana, always Captain. But.. I was unable to work within their rules and it struck me how.. unrealistic our goals were, unachievable if we purposefully skirted around the issues because of uptight morals."

 _Are you going to embrace the inevitability of what you will become, or fight a losing battle?_ Gabriel's words rung in her mind, overriding Jack's stalwart advice. She lifted a hand to her lower face, covering it to hide the deep frown, wrinkles pulling heavily with such a horrible scowl. She knew it to be true now, with hindsight. She was no different to the man Reyes had become, except for the detail that the men she murdered were dangerous criminals, not former fighters of justice.

 _Depends on the shoe you wear_ – what a silly little phrase that held so much meaning. Who was she to judge what was right and wrong? Yet, she did, enacting her duties as the 'ghost', to remove people who threatened the safety of the innocent. Selfishly, of her children. She came to fall out with the world, jaded with how it had treated her and wanted nothing more than for those who she loved to live happily, nobody else.

Finally, she looked at Fareeha's wan face, and her heart ached painfully. She failed that, didn't she?

"I continued Ovewatch's goals through my own means, but I didn't do it for the world, I did it for you. I sent a letter, yes. I couldn't risk endangering you otherwise, if my enemies knew of how to get to you.." she murmured, trailing off.

Pharah opened her mouth, reluctance lacing her movements before halting when Ana hadn't finished. She lifted her hands from under the table, placing them carefully against the top. She didn't move away when immediately Ana's withered old fingers curled around her calloused ones, squeezing gently. It was a simple gesture, but there was more to it than reassurance.

"Truthfully, as you deserve nothing less, I did not intend anyone to find me until I was ready to be found, but the powers that be decided otherwise that day." the sniper stated. "I never wanted you to find out this extensively about me, however – to twist the memory you have of me as the loving, caring mother into the bitter shell of a soldier was.. the most atrocious thing I have done. I.. I don't want you to become like I have, Fareeha."

Ana ended it there, feeling as if she had opened herself up and poured her heart and soul out. Fareeha mulled over the information – naturally, she still was not happy about a few aspects of the supposed truth, nor did she think it excused any of what happened, but eventually conceded to sigh deeply. The mother never intended to excuse her actions, merely show her the reasoning.

Pharah wasn't sure she understood, but regretfully admitted that maybe she was right that in time, thinking back on the truth, she would. She managed to wipe Ana's frown off from her face when she squeezed her hand back, voice cracking slightly as she spoke, trying not to croak or worse – start crying over the intense conversation.

"I'm allowed to be angry, mother." she quietly responded. "That doesn't mean that I love you any less. Even something like this – I will always love you, as you are family. But you have to see that I'm not a child any longer, and you can't return and start treating me as such."

She tried to gather what she meant, taking as much time as needed to form the meaning; "Understand that I'm not twelve any more, I am an independent woman who can handle herself, the consequences of life and the world's matters, and I don't need you to shadow over my choices in fear that I might end up to become something you don't want me to be."

The words held little impact, up until Pharah echoed; "But you _are_ still worthwhile, mother. You never had to go above and beyond the call of duty as a parent to earn that – you already had it."

The accumulation of the confessions, the truth – words so heavy that brought up old memories, and the decades spent dwelling on her choices and her actions lead to Ana becoming defeated in the battle of composure – the mask cracked, shattered like porcelain as tears dripped soundlessly down her cheeks. Silently, Pharah rose from her seat, rounded the table and crouched to embrace her tightly.

"I am so sorry.." the senior whispered in her ear. Fareeha shook her head, gently rubbing her back and rocking side to side, eerily similar to how Ana used to when trying to calm her down.

"I've accepted your apology," she reminded. Forgiveness was a different question, but if today had shown anything, it was promise. Pharah tended not to hold grudges in the first place, and the last thing she wanted to do was harbour something as ugly as that any longer. She wanted to forgive her, to move on and go back to how things were, but she knew she had to be vigilant on this, and stick by her decision. She was thankful to think that it may come sooner than she expected, based on how open her mother had been.

She parted away from her, clasping her upper arms and offering a tentative smile. Ana wiped at her eye, her own smile flighty. "Thank you. For telling me the truth."

"Perhaps I should start doing that more often, eh?" the elder tried to joke, but it fell flat, like the half-drunken tea. She rose from her seat, as did Pharah from her position, and flicked away any excess of tears. "It's not that I lied. I hope you know that – I just.."

"Kept everything to yourself." finished Fareeha. The senior nodded grimly, and the daughter waved dismissively. "Let's.. talk about it another time, now. We have much to discuss, and we should pace ourselves."

The fact that Fareeha was willing to engage in conversation with her in anything other than stiff formality was more than an acceptable outcome in Ana's mind, and the two exchanged an embrace once more before parting.


	50. Re: End

Hello all! I'm just posting this quick note to inform everyone who has this story on alert that i've decided to DISCONTINUE it. It's been a wild ride overall, but I think the collection is strong enough on it's own that it can be considered completed. I have no idea when I was going to "finish" it, even with talk of a second installment...

In any case, thank you all for submitting reviews, liking what I've wrote, or hell being passionate enough to hate what I wrote enough to drive you to tell me about that hate. I've always seen that as a sort of caring - indifference is a much bigger threat than care.

This also rings true for the other Overwatch story, Tempestuous, though I do feel uncomfortable continuing that in the first place given Tracer's sexuality being revealed. I hope people understand that was written **_way_** before anything was confirmed.

I think I will return to writing soon overall, but I'm going to stick with stand-alone oneshot type of deals. I don't have the Time necessary to devote to an ongoing series. If I was to publish a multi-chaptered story I'd make sure to finish it first before publishing to avoid this mistake in the future. Anyway.. thanks for sticking by me and I hope you still are interested in anything I have to write!


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